


Through Ice and Fire

by liacat



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Futuristic, Hella UST, Just think like firefly or the fifth element or Star Wars, Slow Burn, Tags subject to change lmao, UST, and is forced to deal with his emotions, but also dicking around with spirits and gooey feelings, katara is pissed and mad a lot and can be mean but also MOM, like there's space jazz and bending and politics and lots and lots of planets and flying around, sokka makes bad jokes, zuko is uncomfortable literally every chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liacat/pseuds/liacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Zuko, on a mission to retrieve supplies from an Imperial port, crashes into an unknown planet. There, he is greeted by savages of the Water Tribe, who rescue him and take him onto their ship. But as Zuko talks to them more, he begins to doubt the stories he's heard of their barbaric ways. His journey to redemption is a lot more complicated than he originally thought...</p><p>Aka a big space adventure that makes Zuko questions his people's history, prejudices, and legitamacy while he gets his own ideas of honor flipped upside down. Of course, what would a journey of intergalactic  self-discovery be without a cute waterbender to constantly challenge his beliefs and butt heads with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epilogue

Excerpt from standard Fire Colony education textbooks: 

_Long ago, the universe lived in harmony and peace. Human-kind and spirits lived as friends side by side, and for a while both lived in happiness. Eventually, the home planet became too full, and the spirits guided the ancestors to the stars and future home worlds, helping to populate the heavens they had looked at for so long._

_Eventually, the galaxy filled, and squabbling started over the choicest planets. There were worlds where the climates suited the people’s natural home country, but then there were worlds where the nations were at a disadvantage, or where the terraforming had gone wrong. Wars began, and the spirits turned away in shame, leaving to exist in their own plane of existence in an event called the Great Spirit Migration._

_The Fire Empire pushed forward through the war, conquering the other races of people._

_The Air Nomads were the first to lose the war. They hid in shame and weakness, and a disease wiped them out, sent by the Spirits to punish them for their fickleness. The Fire Empire tried to save them, but the plague was simply too much. Their lack of presence was mourned, their weakness pitied._

_Next were the Water Tribes. They resisted valiantly and their own spirits, Tui and La, one of the few spirits to stay behind after the Migration, watched over them. The spirits, though, saw the foolishness and futility of the war and abandoned the Tribes, a sign of goodwill towards the Fire Empire’s intentions. The Water Tribes were left to resist alone. Eventually, they saw the foolishness of the war and submitted to the Fire Empire willingly and peacefully. Rebels still remain, even through the greatness and kindness of the Fire Empire._

_Last to join the Empire were the great Earth kingdoms. Their strength and stability helped them fight with honor and power, but eventually they, too, yielded to the greatness of the Empire. Only a few strongholds remain, their Earth kings allowed to rule by the graciousness of the Fire Emperor._

_The Fire Empire soon ruled the galaxy and dispatched colonies to other worlds. The Fire Empire spanned wide, its control absolute, its uniting of the four elements glorious. However, the outer worlds in the bare legs of the galaxy still manage to defy the supreme nation, practicing savage traditions in the outer planets of each central government. Soon, they will realize the practicality of imperial law, and bend their knees to their saviors._

_May the eternal flame burn._

 

_Year 3578_

_100_ _th_ _year of the Fire Dynasty_

_20_ _th_ _Day of the Fourth Lunar Cycle_

_Day of the Moon_


	2. May-Day

“Agni,” Zuko curses underneath his breath, glaring at the stupid textbook. “Where did this even come from?” It’s literally the last piece of crap on this ship that he can read. He tosses it in the passenger seat, stretching out his limbs. After hearing several satisfying pops, he pulls down a monitor screen, glancing at approximate arrival time.

“Four more hours?” he mutters. “I’ve been in this damn shuttle for 10 already. That can’t be right…” Growling, he presses a button on the monitor, adjusting the camera lens. Soon, a wizened face flickers into view.

“Zuko!” exclaims Iroh, voice crackling in the bad quality of the speakers. “What are you doing, calling in already? Did you get the supplies?”

“I’m just double checking my flight time,” he replies. “The monitor says I still have four hours left.”

Iroh’s eyebrow raises. “Well, that’s odd…”

“You’re telling me! What's wrong with this piece of space crap?” Zuko curses at the dashboard, slamming his fist on the guidance system. It gives a satisfying yet worrisome crunch.

“Zuko, you know you shouldn’t damage the shuttle like that, who knows—“

“How many times it’s been repaired and how many more times it can handle, yeah, I know,” Zuko mutters. Iroh frowns slightly at his tone of voice, his image flickering. “Can you just give me an estimate on time? I really don’t think four hours is correct.”

“Hold on just a minute, I’ll ask Jee,” Iroh tells him. Zuko groans, slumping back in his seat and covering his face. A minute could very well last an hour if Iroh needs to compute the time. Zuko once again curses the ancient equipment they managed to end up with, wondering if one day he could ever live in the lap of luxury again.

Iroh pops back into view. “According to our charts, you should have already landed and docked at the colony port,” he states, a frown pulling at his beard. Zuko feels his eyebrow climbing.

“What do you mean?” he asks dangerously.

“Well, the only possible explanation we have is that…” Iroh swallows quickly, concern in his eyes. Zuko narrows his own eyes, trying to glare the answer out of his uncle, because shit, Zuko hopes he’s not going to say what he thinks he’s going to say. “Is that you’re off course.” Of course it is.

“Off course,” Zuko repeats lowly. Iroh nods affirmation. _“Off course?”_

“Yes, that _is_ what I said,” Iroh tries to cheerfully say. But that just makes Zuko angrier. He can feel it burning up inside him, the rage climbing higher and higher until it bursts out in a single word –

“FUCK.”

“Well now,” Iroh protests. “There’s no need for such language – “

Zuko screams and then starts flailing. Just _one_ time would be nice, he thinks. Just one fucking time, if things could go his way, that would be splendid. He kicks something hard, and then slams his fist on the dashboard again. The shuttle creaks alarmingly, but Zuko’s too angry to care. But _no_ , that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

Zuko growls, steam hissing from his mouth, as he jerks to the side, pounding his fist down on the dashboard. The whole monitor trembles from the force of his blow. “Uncle,” he hisses carefully. “I would appreciate it if you would just _shut –“_

A sudden lurch in the ship interrupts Zuko, and just as quick as his anger had risen up, it flees, leaving behind only a cold sweat of dread.

“Zuko?” Iroh asks worriedly, the monitor flickering even more erratically. “What’s wrong?”

“I—“ Zuko starts worriedly, but the shuttle gives a huge groan and lurches downwards again. “I think I may have broken something…”

Iroh’s face pales on the screen. “Land immediately, Zuko.”

“I know that,” Zuko snaps. He begins punching in numbers onto the keyboard, Iroh’s picture minimizing and a map popping up. “There’s a planet close by, and I think – _ugh,”_ Zuko mutters. His shuttle shudders, slowing down, but Zuko’s too busy looking at the planet name with disgust. “It’s a rebel Water Tribe planet,” he mutters. “Part of the resistance.”

Iroh groans. “Zuko, what in Agni’s name are you doing in resistance territory?”

Sulkily, Zuko mutters, “I was just following the directions you gave me.”

“And you didn’t think to question… be… ko?” static erupts between Iroh’s words, his picture warping. Zuko bangs his fist into the monitor.

“What?” Zuko yells, as if that'll help strengthen the connection. Iroh’s mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes from the speakers. And then he cuts out completely.

Suddenly, the shuttle gives another lurch, and Zuko grunts, panic lodging in his throat. “Shitshitshitshit,” he says, rattling the controls, but the shuttle responds only in a cool, female voice, intoning “Warning: fuel is low. Land immediately. Warning: fuel is low. Land immediately.”

“I heard you the first time!” Zuko snarls, flipping all the switches and controls, hoping for a response of some kind. When nothing responds except the infuriatingly calm computer voice, Zuko leans back, closing his eyes.

Stay in the shuttle, where the fuel will run out and then his oxygen soon after that and die in the freezing cold, or start an emergency landing and crash onto a foreign, hostile planet full of savages?

The decision is obvious. Still, he hesitates.

“I hope I die peacefully,” Zuko mutters with some finality, closing his eyes. Finally, he opens them and leans over to the passenger seat, rummaging in the drawer. Inside is a bright red lever and a number pad, where he punches his code in and pulls on the lever. Immediately, the shuttle stops her warning, now saying, “Emergency landing initiated. Please fasten seatbelts and use oxygen mask.”

Zuko complies, slipping out the mask and tightening his seatbelt. He feels the shuttle jerk, and in front of him, the blue, icy planet begins to dominate his field of vision. Gravity begins to clutch at him, and Zuko takes short, deep breaths to calm himself. The engines whine on their last remaining drops of fuel –

And suddenly, he’s falling.

It’s a world of screaming metal and intense heat. Flames cover the entire shuttle as he screeches through the atmosphere of the planet, parts flying off. Zuko clutches the seat, eyes scrunched close, pleading in his mind over and over that Agni above, _please_ let uncle have checked the buffers and had them repaired recently on this piece of crap.

He opens his eye a slit, sees the ground coming up at him… Then the buffers groan, and he feels his descent slowing slightly, but not enough, he’s still going too fast. “Warning: descent needs to slow down for safety measures. Please apply descent lift.” _Shit._ That he knows hadn’t been fixed recently. “Warning…”

Zuko grits his teeth and jerks at the flight control, hoping that it’ll respond. The shuttle complies reluctantly, control hard to gain while falling so fast. Zuko glances around for somewhere safer, and sees the ocean of the planet. He plunges straight through the mirror-like surface, and can’t tell which way is up or down. After what feels like an eternity, his ship jerks to a stop, sliding a bit more. If Zuko had to guess, he’s caught on a reef.

Well, at least he isn’t on fire anymore.

“Emergency landing complete.” The shuttle tells him, the cool voice warping to a deeper tone, one that doesn’t make Zuko feel particularly safe or calm. “We are now underwater.”

“Thanks,” Zuko gasps, slumping back. “I hadn’t noticed, you piece of crap.”

“Possibilities of leaking are high.”

“Really?”

“Evacuate immediately.”

“I’ll try,” Zuko growls. “With, you know, my amazing abilities to breath _underwater_.”

The machine doesn’t listen to him. The buttons glow dimmer and dimmer, and Zuko rests his head on the steering wheel. He feels something wet drip on his face, steady pings of groaning metal elsewhere. _So this is it_ , he thinks bitterly. _My glorious end. Father would be_ so _proud, what with how I found the Avatar and everything. And Azula, how she would laugh –_

A small bleep fills the cabin, and Zuko pops up in disbelief. The ancient radio equipment has picked up a signal, declaring an incoming message. He doesn’t recognize the serial number of the caller, so it can’t be uncle… But it could be a chance at survival. Hurriedly, trying very hard not to stare incredulously, Zuko presses the mic button, stating in Common, “This is a shuttle ship from komodo-rhino merchant class zero six nine four. I’ve crash landed my ship, and am requesting aid. Repeat. Requesting aid.”

Silence fills the cabin… And then, an answering voice filters through the radio speakers: “Wait right there. We’re coming to pick you up.”

Relief blooms through his chest, and Zuko allows himself one undignified fist-pump in the air. Then he waits for his rescue to help him, not daring to think of who they might be.

Well, there’re only a few options. Either a) Water Tribe savages who miraculously figured out (ancient) Fire Empire technology and speak Common well enough to leave no trace of an accent are coming to tattoo him and then roast him alive while dancing around the flames or b) rescue by neutral merchant Earth citizens who were simply trading goods with previously said savages by water, because flight technology is too advanced for the primitive minds of the Water Tribes. Zuko’s desperately hoping for the latter, because at least then he can get an angle in with money. Earth merchants don’t care who the money comes from as long as it’s cash.

The radio gives a ping, warning of another incoming signal. Zuko presses the button. “We are nearing your fallen craft. We’ll be securing you and then pulling you up.”

Zuko nods his head, then feels like an idiot when he remembers they can’t see him. He leans back, closing his eyes and squeezing the armrests of his seat, trying very hard not to think of what comes next. He doesn’t want to give up hope that maybe he’ll survive and make it back home one day. Still, the thought of a Water Tribe finding him crosses his mind a few times, and leaves a sense of sickening dread in his gut. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, and then lapses into meditating, struggling to keep the oppressive claustrophobia at bay.

He hears noises outside, like metal on metal, causing him to twist his head in inquiry. Something swims past the darkness of his window, but in the black depths of underwater, it’s hard to tell. Only the dim glow from his dying shuttle offers any insight to the mysterious sounds. The shuttle begins groaning loudly, and the water ceases to drip in. Zuko looks up, puzzled, then grabs his seat as he feels the shuttle rising out of the water, moving faster and faster towards the murky, dancing light above him until finally he breaks free of the ocean.

Zuko gasps in relief, glad to be out of the water and back into the sun. However, his relief is short-lived when he cranes his neck to look out the window at his rescuers pulling him towards a giant, hulking boat, wondering how in Agni’s name they got him out so fast, and – _shit._

Waterbenders. He’s been rescued by _savages._

Zuko’s worse-case scenario has been realized.

Iroh’s voice swims into his head as Zuko watches the seven people whizzing across the water, their arms a flurry of movement as they bend him and themselves closer to the boat. _The turtle-duck appears to be peaceful and composed above water, but hardly anyone knows that he is working fiercely to float beneath the surface._

What the hell, Zuko thinks sulkily. Is that supposed to mean? Am I a turtle-duck, uncle?

“Alright,” he breathes. “I need to stay calm.”

They don’t know that he is a (currently exiled) prince of the Fire Empire, son of Emperor Ozai. They don’t know that he is a firebender. They don’t know anything except that he crashed on their planet in an emergency landing. Surely he can’t get into too much trouble, even with these barbarians, right?

The waterbenders create a wave together, large enough to lift him out of the water, then freeze it, suspending him right next to the boat. They all follow suit, leaping on board to wait beside the railing. Zuko swallows, watching them watch him carefully. They obviously want him to come out, but Zuko thinks that maybe jumping into the ocean is a good idea. Then again, the idea of being surrounded by an enemy’s element… Not so comforting.

And so, without any other option, Zuko opens the hatch to the shuttle and jumps onto deck, hands up in peace. The waterbenders all move into an offensive stance, ready to attack when needed. Zuko watches them carefully, counting eight warriors, all clad in woolen pants, thick boots, and heavy tunics secured with sashes. Though not official Water Tribe winter garb, they still appear suitable for the chilly weather. Zuko shivers, envying them their warmth as his breath comes out hot, pluming into the crisp air. He can’t help but think longingly of the blazing sun back home. He clears his throat.

“My ship has crashed, and I request help according to the galactic law set in place by the Avatar Yangchen,” Zuko says in Common, trying to sound as sure of himself as possible. His 17 years of age is suddenly feeling even younger than normal, and he hopes they don’t perceive how he’s feeling. The waterbenders say nothing, only continue to watch him. “I can pay you, if that’s what you wish, or trade something.”

A sharp laugh comes from higher up, and Zuko looks up to the roof of the cabin. He’s unable to make out the face of the person, the sun blinding him, but the laugh is male.

“What makes you think you have anything worth trading?” The voice asks back in Common. Zuko’s surprised by the lack of an accent. It’s as good as his, if not better. “All I see is a hunk of junk.”

“I know my shuttle is damaged, but I can give you whatever you want when – “

“Oh, I didn’t mean the shuttle. We can still salvage that,” the voice interrupts him. Zuko’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds before clicking shut in outrage. It’s a struggle to keep steam from pouring forth in anger at the insult, but he manages. The idea of being frozen and then boiled alive keeps him in check.

“How do we know it’s worthwhile to help you?” the voice asks.

Zuko glares up at the shadowy outline. “I don’t answer to rude strangers who don’t even show their face,” Zuko growls. The waterbenders around him flinch as he puts his hands down, water in their own. The voice is quiet for a few seconds, then proceeds to laugh again.

“Fair enough,” he says. “I’ll come down and we’ll have a nice chat, okie-dokie?”

Zuko doesn’t respond except to lean against the railing and cross his arms. _Okie-dokie?_ He thinks furiously. He’s obviously being made fun of, and if there’s anything Zuko hates, it’s being the fool. Too many memories of Azula’s snake-like smirk cross his mind. To distract himself, he gazes at the waterbenders around him. It’s difficult to tell the gender of each one through their thick garb and the length of their hair. He assumes all of them are male, as he remembers uncle mentioning how some Tribes value strict gender roles. The sound of the man coming down brings his attention back to the previous speaker.

He tracks the figure as he walks down the stairs, feet clunking on the metal deck of the ship. Zuko can’t help but be surprised when he sees how young the man is – he looks to be Zuko’s age, even. His face is sharp and angular, blue eyes accented by high cheekbones. His dark hair is pulled back, the sides shaved with designs. But Zuko’s mostly surprised by the broad grin on the other boy’s brown face, the friendliness in his stance.

“Sorry for the interrogation,” he says cheerfully. “We were just afraid you were an imperial spy or something, come to learn all our secrets and destroy our humble planet, yada yada.” The boy grins even wider, laughing a bit, and Zuko breathily chuckles with him. _Not an imperial spy, just an imperial prince._  “My name is Sokka, by the way.” He holds out his hand, and Zuko clasps it uncertainly, shaking it while struggling with what to say.

“Lee,” he responds. It’s the name his Uncle and him had come up with, in case they ever needed to go in disguise. He casts about for something to say, something to take attention away from his discomfort and his hesitation at the lie. “Your Common is, uh, really good.”

Sokka’s grin becomes a real smile, and his cheeks are red with pleasure. “Really? You think so? I thought I’ve been kind of rusty. I haven’t spoken it in a while, not since I came back to help out with the village. Hey, are you hungry? Want to eat something before we call your ship?” Sokka starts ushering him off before he even answers.

“Uh, sure?” Zuko replies, so bewildered by the friendliness of this boy that he can’t really think of anything wittier to say. He glances around at the waterbenders, who have relaxed. Sokka seems to notice his nervousness, because he begins waving his hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about them. They’re all bark and no bite. We just have to be kind of scary sometimes, so people don’t try and steal our stuff, right?” he directs the last part to one of the waterbenders who has pulled their hood down, a short, plush girl who’d broken off to walk in the same direction as them. She narrows her eyes and says something that Zuko can’t understand but assumes is Tribe. Sokka blinks innocently while responding in the same language, shrugging his shoulders and flapping his hands. She smirks, shakes her head and falls behind them.

Zuko follows her with his eyes, uncomfortable to have her where he can’t see her – or more specifically, her hands. She notices his look and frowns at him, face turning hard. There’s something unforgiving there, something cold and dark and feral. However, she doesn’t move into a waterbending stance, which he can tell she wants to do. Zuko slowly turns away from her, oddly comforted by the idea that at least one person is following his previous conceptions of Water Tribe savagery.

“Sorry about my sister, she doesn't like talking to strangers,” Sokka finally says, turning back to Zuko. He’d apparently noticed the little exchange. “But, uh, all the same, be careful about what you say to her, and be _nice_. La and Tui know I’ve been frozen to a wall too many times for comfort’s sake because of something stupid I’ve said.”

“Sure,” Zuko responds, feeling weirdly at ease now. “I’m good at not talking.”

“Hey, that works out great. I’m _great_ at talking,” Sokka quips back easily. “I’m often told _too good._ This is the cafeteria. I think it’s penguin-seal stew today.”

“Sounds delicious,” Zuko responds monotonously. Penguin-seals? Are they even edible? Zuko thinks they might have one in the capital's zoo at home, but that might have been a penguin-fish.

“Of course it is,” Sokka croons, his eyes going unfocused. “Mmm. Meaty goodness, here we come.”

Zuko’s unsure of how to deal with Sokka. Listening to him speak, he sounds air-headed and inexperienced. However, Zuko notes carefully, the waterbenders had backed off at some invisible signal of his, and he seemed to be in charge of this giant metal ship – which, by the way, Zuko didn’t even know the Water Tribes were capable of making. Sokka is definitely more than he appears. Zuko just has to be careful not to slip up.

Sokka ushers them through the line and places their bowls down, handing a pair of chopsticks to him to slurp up the noodles. Zuko takes them silently, eating politely to keep the conversation one-sided. Sokka mostly chats about meaningless stuff, asking about news throughout the empire. Every so often, he’ll pause and look at Zuko’s hands expressionlessly. Zuko didn’t notice it the first time, but each glance annoys him more.

“Is there something wrong with my fingers?” he finally asks.

“Mm?” Sokka answers, chewing on the last piece of rubbery penguin-seal meat from his stew. “Not really. Except your hands are kind of like a girl’s.”

“What?” Zuko asks, dumbfounded. He observes his hand. They’re long fingered with blunt tips and square nails, nothing like Azula’s delicate, dainty hands. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. They’re just really pretty and elegant,” Sokka states absentmindedly. He rubs his chin, silent for once. Zuko’s torn between defending the honor of his hands (which he’s not sure has actually been tainted. Having girly hands, is that a bad thing? Good thing? This Water Tribe is weird) and being surprised by the Sokka’s sudden laconic state.

Sokka finally leans back, sighing contentedly. “Alright, let’s go send that message to your ship,” he tells Zuko, standing up leisurely. Zuko slips off his own stool and follows him, wondering what question or useless piece of information is going to come next.

“So, what planet are you from, Lee?” Sokka asks on the way down, his boots clunking on the metal stairs. Zuko feels uncomfortable in the enclosed space of the ship's belly, but tries not to show it.

“Ba Sing Se,” he says automatically. Sokka’s eyebrows go up.

“Refugee?” he asks. Zuko nods sharply.

“My grandfather was,” he responds. He watches Sokka out of the corner of his eye. The boy is nodding in understanding. “He fled from a colony in the outer reaches. He started a tea shop in Ba Sing Se city.” The story is simple enough, and plausible. The Fire Empire colonies in the outer reaches of the empire are tenuously within Fire Empire grasp, and rebels often spring up on those planets. The planets had been colonized long enough for the two races to mingle, for people who look Fire Empire to not necessarily be full-blooded. The rebel scuffles in the outer-lying ring of planets have flared up again recently enough to remind people of the horrific guerilla battles a generation beforehand, which had caused mass emigration to other planets. Specifically, the planet sized asteroid known as Ba Sing Se, residing in the immense asteroid belt that makes up the brunt of the Earth Kingdom.

“Where’d the burn come from?” Sokka asks next, his voice piercing through Zuko’s musings. Zuko feels his breath pause in shock. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised still when people ask him that question, honestly, but the question still brings him back to that day. Cautiously, he chooses his next words.

“Run in with imperial soldiers,” he answers tersely. Sokka stops walking and turns towards him.

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says simply.

Zuko hangs his head for a few moments, eyes staring unseeingly at the floor. He feels nothing but anger at this pity. He doesn’t need pity…

“It was a long time ago,” is all Zuko can manage. Sokka doesn’t say anything more, but opens the door, gesturing for Zuko to go in first. Zuko heads in, eyes flitting around the dim room. He doesn’t see any equipment for calls or messages. Instantly, Zuko’s heart plummets as he whirls around, only to see the door slamming shut, the door hissing as it seals close. Zuko can only stand there in astonishment for a few seconds, staring at the door.

 _I’m sorry,_ Sokka had said.

Oh. Well, shit.

A portion of the door slides away to reveal Sokka’s face peering in. His gaze doesn’t betray any emotion, but he presses a button that allows his voice over speakers to reach Zuko. “Sorry about this, but we can’t really trust what you say. We’ll keep you here until we reach land, and figure it out from there.”

Zuko glares at him. “I haven’t done anything,” he growls lowly. Sokka shrugs helplessly.

“You’re obviously lying about where you come from,” Sokka responds.

“What do you mean?” Zuko’s actually curious now. His anger has faded only to mere irritation as he wonders where he messed up. Which part of the lie is unbelievable? There were plenty of refugees who look Fire Empire, but aren’t. Ba Sing Se’s population is so huge, no one could possible run an identity scan on him in less than three weeks, let alone the hour he’d been on the ship. His scar is perfectly plausible if he had come from a merchant ship that ran into trouble with a surly imperial guard. He and uncle had rehearsed the lie hundreds of times. So how had Sokka figured it out?

Sokka sighs dramatically. “It’s so hard being a genius,” he mutters. “But if I must, I’ll explain.” Sokka looks left, then right, checking for anyone in the dim hallway -- then holds up his hands, wiggling them. “Understand now?”

Zuko narrows his eyes, glaring at the boy. The irritation is quickly becoming anger again. Sokka tilts his head. “Still nothing? Your hands?”

“My hands,” Zuko repeats stiffly. “What about them, besides that they’re ‘girly?’”

“Well, I mean, yeah, they’re pretty hands, but that’s not the problem.” Sokka presses up closer to the window, his smile grim. The speaker crackles as he murmurs, “You hold your chopsticks weird.”

Zuko can’t help but stare at the boy. He reconsiders the statement, wondering if there’s possibly any sane idea that came out of his mouth, or if it actually made sense, but he can’t wrap his head around it. His anger has been completely blown away by incredulity and confusion. “What?” he asks, stupidly.

“Did you know,” Sokka continues. “That Fire nobility has a completely different set of etiquette than normal citizens?”

“Of course,” Zuko snaps, annoyed. “I don’t see how that has to do with anything –“

“And that,” the other boy continues, ignoring Zuko’s comment. “The etiquette has changed within the last twenty years?”

Zuko glares at the boy. “So?” he growls.

Sokka shakes his head. “Do I have to spell everything out for you?” Sokka sighs, as if finding the situation tedious. Zuko can see Sokka clearly enjoys watching him flounder.

“Not only did you imply that you came from a simpler background, you also implied your family has had nothing to do with Fire Empire citizens for at least two generations previous to you,” Sokka explains, his tone now sober. “Fire Empire peasantry, by the way, grip the chopsticks lower down, whereas nobility in the capital at the height of current fashion anchor the bottom stick on this finger, which is much more time-consuming to learn and illogically difficult,” he explains, lifting one hand and wiggling the finger in demonstration. “Also, I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but chopsticks aren’t widely used in the working class of Ba Sing Se currently, regardless of ancestry.”

Sokka’s grin is a bit too feral for Zuko’s liking, and images of him chewing through human jerky appear vividly in Zuko’s mind. At the same time, Zuko is impressed with the boy’s knowledge of both Fire Empire and Earth Kingdom etiquette, which is such a weird and obscure thing for a Water Tribe peasant to even consider. He can practically hear uncle congratulating the boy.

“Lee – if that is even your name, which I doubt it is – you lied to me. You lied to me, even after I rescued you, gave you a chance to tell me the truth.” Sokka’s face is hard now, his smile a tight, thin line; Zuko has trouble believing that this is the same boy from before. “And I don’t take being lied to very well.”

Zuko doesn’t respond, except to look away. Sokka’s sigh crackles over the speakers. “We’re having a council meeting as soon as we land to discuss what we should do with you.” Zuko sits down at the small table in the room, sitting down as straight and proudly as possible. He expects for Sokka to simply leave, but the boy hesitates.

“Lee, I hope for your sake that you’re really a refugee,” he says softly. “I’d rather not have you die.”

Zuko’s head snaps towards the door, but Sokka has already slid the metal cover of the window shut, and the speakers offer no more insight. Zuko’s left alone with only his dread and curiosity for company in the dull, blue light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Zuko receives visits from Sokka and his chilly waterbending guard. Zuko can feel time slipping through his fingers, and seeks a way to escape.


	3. A Cold Prison, A Cold Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko's imprisonment at the hands of the Tribe siblings complicates things. A lot. Especially when... complicated things happen.

He doesn’t know how long he waited down there, but it couldn’t have been more than several hours. Even deep inside the metal belly of this damn ship, Zuko can feel the sun setting. His bending grows weaker, his own inner fire dying down with the flaming orb in the sky. Zuko sighs deeply, longing for that ever-present comfort to at least be stronger within him during his stress. He's not sure what he's waiting for, but it can't be anything pleasant.

To help himself pass the time, Zuko sits on the floor, breathing in and out to meditate. He focuses on his inner flame, concentrates on keeping himself warm. He’s still wearing his flying gear, which offers some warmth within the cold interior of the room, but he finds himself understanding the use of furs and thick woolen clothing, which he knows the Water Tribe is famous for. Funnily enough, he hadn’t seen any of the crew wearing those clothes, though. They’d all been dressed in blue wraps or tunics with thin leggings and boots. Did they not feel the cold? He wonders absently, exhaling. Perhaps they enjoy it the way he enjoys the warm sun and humid air pressing onto his skin… _Inhale_. The way home smells, and the sound of nature calling loudly and vibrantly through the steamy forests. _Exhale_ … The feeling of being held close, a gentle hand smoothing his hair back lovingly… _Inhale. Exhale –_

Zuko groans, opening his eyes. Well, that didn’t work.

Fortunately, the sound of metal creaking saves him from pursuing those memories further, and he looks up to see Sokka and a female waterbender. Zuko recognizes her as the girl Sokka had warned him to be nice to. Zuko can see why – she’s glaring daggers at him, her mouth a thin, suspicious line. He also notes the rather sizeable pouch hanging against her hip, more than likely filled with water to freeze or maim him. Maybe both. Zuko finds looking at Sokka much more comfortable, even if he knew the boy is cleverer than he appears. Sokka has a small smile on his lips, though Zuko sees it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s a shame, he thinks warily. Sokka’s smile is actually pleasant.

Sokka takes a seat at the metal table in the center of the room, crossing his arms. He looks down at where Zuko still sits on the floor, legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t sneer or smirk, which Zuko is pleasantly surprised to see, but the waterbender guard behind him does narrow her eyes further. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to get up and sit in the chair, or speak first, or what. Instead, he remains seated on the ground, carefully keeping his expression neutral.

Sokka eventually breaks the silence. “So,” he begins. “What’s your real name, Lee?”

Zuko doesn’t respond. He wonders if they would even recognize his real name, but doesn’t see the point in answering their questions.

“Alright,” Sokka muses, rubbing his chin. “Guess we can skip that one.” He leans back, propping his feet up on the table. Zuko’s eyes flicker to the guard, wondering if his relaxed stance is a ploy to make him less suspicious and to crumble his defenses. He’s mildly amused to see her nose wrinkle in distaste, her hands going to her hips as she chastises him. At least, Zuko’s pretty sure its chastisement. He’s heard that tone used before by uncle. Zuko’s often unwittingly doing impolite things in front of honorable people, which requires much reproach from the old man.

Sokka’s laughter brings back Zuko from surprisingly home-sick thoughts of Iroh. Sokka responds to the woman in the same language before wiggling his toes. She merely snorts, her hands still planted firmly on her hips. Zuko can feel amusement tugging in his chest, but his face remains placid.

Sokka waves the woman away. “Sorry about her,” Sokka tells him. “She’s such a fussy busybody.” Zuko chooses again to say nothing, to not respond to Sokka’s friendliness. It’s not hard to close himself off when he remembers he’s in the freezing metal belly of a Water Tribe ship. Sokka doesn’t seem to mind his silence, though, going on to ask, “Where are you from?”

Zuko hesitates. Obviously, Sokka already knows the answer to this: Fire Empire territory. But the rest of it doesn’t need to be said, of course, or known. Zuko thinks he’s already in deep enough shit without adding the fact that’s he’s the prince of a galactic empire (albeit a banished prince).

He decides to go with the truth, slightly censored. “Fire Empire. Inner core of planets.”

“Inner core?” Sokka whistles loudly, thumping a hand on the metal table. “We got ourselves a genuine prissy-pants!” he grins at Zuko, who doesn’t feel the urge to return the smile. After a few moments, Sokka continues. “So, what brings you here to this middle-of-nowhere space?”

Zuko licks his lips, tries to keep his face stony. “My ship… It’s transporting goods.”

“'Goods?'” Sokka pries, leaning forward. Zuko can see the cogs turning in the other boy’s brain, and he can see the direction it’s going.

“Not weapons!” he reassures him quickly, then realizing how suspicious shouting ‘not weapons!’ actually sounds. Zuko would have preferred to keep their main commodity secret because of its value, but once again decides the truth may help him out. “Tea. We’re transporting tea.”

Sokka’s eyebrows instantly shoot up, his jaw dropping. _“Tea?”_ he asks incredulously. “But I thought the disease had wiped out most tea plantations…” Sokka shakes his head, no doubt recalling the disease that swept through the Empire several years ago, killing off all forms of tea plants. It devastated the economies of several planets, and now only the super-rich can afford the drink. “You’re carrying a _fortune_ then!”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit,” Sokka mutters in awe. He’s silent for a few seconds, and Zuko briefly allows himself the entertainment of guessing what he’s thinking. If Zuko were Sokka, he’d ask his uncle for the tea as ransom, exchanging the rare leaves for his life. Of course, Zuko’s not really sure if his uncle would be able to choose between the two. Gloomily, he pictures his uncle automatically refusing the deal, opting instead for his beloved tea.

“So why were you using this route?” Sokka continues. Zuko looks up from his melancholic thoughts. “I mean, it’s not as if we’re enroute to anything important. The nearest imperial station is a couple of hundred of space miles away, and it’s basically just an outpost. Nothing worth stopping at.”

_Holy fucking spirits._ A couple of  _hundred_ space miles away? _Dammit Uncle, dammit Jee!_ They were so far off the mark that Zuko might just laugh, if he were a laughing kind of guy. But he's not, and the situation he's currently in is anything but hilarious. Still, the fact they got it so wrong... Sokka clears his throat, obviously waiting for an answer. Zuko can feel his cheeks flushing as he again opts for the truth, as it’s easier than lying. “I, uh. I was out alone on my own mission to retrieve some supplies from a planet and, um, I didn’t mean to, but I got lost.”

Sokka’s cackling is everything Zuko didn’t want to hear. His cheeks grow pinker as he looks at the ground. “Duh!” the boy whimpers between fits of laughter. “I mean, look at the piece of crap you were flying! The navigation system must be from the early colonization days!”

“It’s not _that_ crappy,” Zuko protests weakly. He’s not sure why he’s defending the junky old shuttle. He himself had called it space junk earlier. Besides, such a miscalculation in coordinates couldn't be the sole fault of the shuttle... No matter how old and shitty it is. Sokka just shakes his head, his goofy grin splitting his face.

“Alright, alright. Well, lunch will be here soon,” Sokka announces, standing up. “I’ll come back to talk to you later,” he promises, walking out the door. He doesn’t bother to see if the guard follows him, which Zuko wishes he had, because she’s giving him the same icy stare as earlier. She’s also walking towards him, making Zuko stand up quickly, hoping to put her off by the obvious height difference. She doesn’t stop until she’s nose to nose with him (or rather, nose to chest), her sapphire eyes glaring. She jabs him in the chest with her finger, snarls something in that vile tongue of theirs, and then shoves him away. Zuko at least has the dignity to not fall, bracing himself against her push. That seems only to infuriate her more, causing her to storm out and slam the door, sealing it with a hiss.

Well. That was fantastic.

* * *

Zuko’s lunch eventually comes by. It's a protein block that smells atrocious and tastes bland, but it’s sustenance. Sokka pops in a few times over the next couple of days to ask more dumb questions, cracking a few equally dumb jokes here and there. Each time, he is accompanied by the silent, cold guard. Zuko watches her out of the corner of his eye, gauging her strength, her skill by the prowling grace she carries her plush body with, the way she moves, the confidence she carries herself with. He’s sure he can handle her in a fight, if push comes to shove. After all, within the ship she only has her pouch of water. As long as the fight is contained where she can't access the ocean outside, he'll be fine. The days proceed in much the same way – if they even are days. He’s not really sure how much time has passed without the sun, which he can’t even feel through the layers of metal in the belly of the creaking, chilly ship.

Currently, Zuko’s bored of staring at the same metal ceiling of his prison. He had saved a squishy sea prune from his last meal (“a treat for you!” Sokka had delightedly exclaimed, dumping several of these on Zuko's protein block. Zuko dimly thinks he'd eat a dozen more disgusting protein blocks than smell another sea prune) and throws it against the wall, catching it as it bounces back. Growing tired of this, he eventually stands up, brushing off his pants and wandering around the cell. He’s been over it at least a hundred times, picking at the seams of metal, knocking quietly for hollow spaces. One time, out of view of the cameras he’s already scoped out, he discreetly tested his tiny knife-shaped flame against the steel, but all it managed to achieve was an unpleasant scorch mark that he spent a long time rubbing off.

He comes up to the door, idly resting a hand against the cool metal. The ship’s engine causes it to vibrate, and once again he has to marvel at the technology that the Water Tribe possesses. When did they advance? _How_ had they advanced so much without Fire Empire knowledge? Surely his father would be interested in this… Maybe interested enough to forgive him…

Sokka’s goofy grin floats into his head, and Zuko feels just the tiniest hint of guilt. He would actually miss him if he ever left the ship – _no._ Zuko pounds his fist against the door. He can’t afford to be weak right now. His priority is to get out as soon as possible, return to uncle, and resume his search for the Avatar.

Just then, the sound of the door opening catches his attention, and Zuko jumps back, schooling his face into a more neutral expression as he carefully backs away. In walks the waterbender guard, and she pauses, glaring at him. Zuko struggles to not click his tongue childishly at her in irritation. He keeps waiting for Sokka to follow her in, but she merely narrows her eyes further, shutting the door without breaking eye contact. Zuko realizes that their session is one-on-one, and he feels his pulse rush faster in anticipation of a fight. If there’s to be one, he’s ready.

They glare at each other for a few moments, Zuko’s senses painfully aware of everything. He can feel his hands tingling with warmth, the fire beneath his skin eager to jump out after disuse. He’s ready for a good spar, even if it’s with a waterbender. When she finally moves, Zuko’s instantly in a guarded stance, hands offensively placed in front of him. But she doesn’t bend the water out of her pouch, instead opting to point angrily at the chair and mutter something. Zuko blankly stares, wondering what she could possibly want -- then sits down _very_ quickly when she hisses something viciously at him. _A woman making that face is not to be trifled with,_ Zuko thinks instinctively. (Or maybe that’s something uncle said once? Uncle certainly has more experience with women than Zuko, that’s for sure. Not that Zuko has any time to… Get experience. Or wants to. Ok, maybe a weird thing to think about with an enemy waterbender glaring icy daggers at him.) The Tribe woman stands opposite from him, continuing to stare at him, her face twisted up in what Zuko can only assume is disgust.

Within seconds, she’s beside him, clutching his arm in her small hands. Zuko snatches it back, jumping away in utter astonishment. She rolls her eyes, grabbing his arm, squeezing in several places, prodding his muscles. Zuko feels his face grow hot as she moves on to his other arm and then to his chest. “What the _hell_ are you doing?!” he asks hotly, voice cracking in surprise and staring at her small brown hands caressing his chest. He can't help but feel rather violated.

She stops to give him a withering stare, as if to say, _don't flatter yourself_. She points to herself. “Katara,” she tells him. Zuko’s eyebrow raises in surprise. She pats his back roughly, and then stands up to move away from him quickly, wiping her hands on her blue tunic carefully, as if removing any trace of him from her skin. Zuko stares after her in bewilderment.

“Uh, hi, Katara?”

She nods. “Katara.” Her finger moves away from herself and towards him, her eyes questioning. They’re still guarded, but there’s an irritated curiosity there. Zuko’s almost amused; she despises him so much and would obviously be much happier without him around, but the enigmatic idea of his name forces her to be in his presence. Also that weird touching thing. Why is she doing that, anyways?

“Lee,” he replies, the lie rolling off his tongue easier this time. Apparently not easy enough, though, because she snorts loudly and shakes her head emphatically. So she doesn’t believe that Lee is his real name, either. Sokka must have talked to her about that. He watches as she reaches into her robe, pulling out a piece of paper. She slides it over to him, her mouth hard. He quickly reads the scribbly common written on it.

_You’d better answer all of her questions. She’s scary when she’s mad._

Zuko glances over it, then cocks and eyebrow at her. What questions can she ask that he can answer? It's not as if they have a common language. “Sokka,” she says, tapping the paper. Then she points a finger towards herself. “Katara,” the syllables drip slowly from her mouth, like she thinks he’s stupid. Then, she points to him, waiting for him to respond.

Zuko says nothing.

Katara swears loudly in her language, slamming her fist on the table. She begins talking very fast, and sometimes Zuko almost thinks he can understand her. But maybe he can just recognize her frustration as he’s very familiar with the feeling. She looks at him earnestly, anger apparent in her voice as she mutters something probably not very nice.

He sighs. “Look,” he begins, and she startles a bit at his voice, freezing to glare at him. “I know you’re not about to understand anything I’m about to say to you, but please realize that all I want is to get off this stupid ship. I never meant to lie, but I’d rather keep my identity a secret.”

She’s quiet at his words, and Zuko feels a little silly for having expected her to reply to him. But she seems to drink up every word he said, as if analyzing it. But of course she can’t. She doesn’t speak Common – she’s just another fur-wearing barbarian, and that's all she'll ever be.

“You see, I’m actually looking for something. Something extremely important.” Zuko doesn’t know why he’s saying this. She can’t understand. But the way she sits there and listens is oddly comforting, the way her blue eyes never stray from his face as he talks. He’s glad to have someone to tell, even if they don’t understand. More so, even. Softly, he murmurs, “My honor depends on it.”

Katara’s eyes narrow, and Zuko’s foolishly afraid for a second that she knew what he was saying, that she was going to freeze his mouth shut or begin to yell again. Instead, she merely pulls a block of protein from inside her pouch and places it on the table in front of him. He looks down and mutters, “Yuck.” Katara gives an irritated growl, snarling something at him in Tribe and throwing something else at him. Then she storms out, tossing her braid angrily over her shoulder. Zuko watches her leave, then picks up whatever she had thrown at him from his lap where it had landed.

It was a package of dehydrated fruit, something that is surely valued on a planet where so little shipments come through. He stares at it stupidly for a few seconds, wondering what on earth had possessed the Water Tribe savage to give it to _him,_ a prisoner. Then, delicately, he pulls the package apart and pulls out a dried mango. His mouth waters at the sight of it, the smell enticing him so thoroughly he completely forgets about his suspicions. When was the last time he’d actually had _fruit?_ The ring of planets making up the main core of the Fire Nebula was abundant in fresh fruit and vegetables, but out here, the outskirts of the galaxy, a small berry is a priceless commodity. Zuko had never allowed his uncle to spend the money on fresh fruit whenever they made a stop at a port or a planet. It was simply too expensive and went bad on long voyages, and dried fruit never lasted long on the ship either. Now, Zuko licks his lips and gives in to his temptation, nibbling on the edge. Beneath the toughness of the dried fruit, sweetness trickles into his mouth. Zuko shoves the rest into his mouth hurriedly, closing his eyes. After several more pieces, he forces himself to close the package and diligently begins on his salty, disgusting protein block. He stares at the package of fruit, though, and wonders why on earth the waterbender who so obviously hates him gave it away so freely.

The sound of metal groaning breaks Zuko’s musing, and his eyes snap up, almost expecting to see the waterbender again. But it’s only Sokka. He’s accompanied by a different waterbending guard, Zuko notes silently.

“Oh, hey, you’ve got your food already,” Sokka notes in surprise. Zuko flicks his eyes down to the food and then back to Sokka. “Was it Katara?”

Zuko nods.

“Knew it. Man, she just can’t keep away from prisoners.” Sokka sighs. Katara can’t keep away from prisoners? What’s that supposed to mean? Keep away _how_ exactly? Zuko reflects with some horror on her wandering hands. “I think she was checking to see if you were injured from the crash.”

Zuko stares incredulously at Sokka. “I thought she hates the Fire Empire,” he remarks monotonously, unable to think of anything else to say besides, _so she wasn't feeling me up?_ Sokka throws up his hands in defeat, taking a seat across the table from Zuko.

“Same,” Sokka agrees. “Maybe she actually believes your whole shtick about being a refugee.” Zuko doubts that, considering the hatred in her eyes whenever she looked at him. “Or maybe she’s just a sucker for showing off to people how nurturing she is.”

Nurturing? Zuko scoffs silently. She’s about as nurturing as Azula. Zuko could never see his sister or Katara being anything like his idea of nurturing, being anything like his mother. Zuko quickly steers away from that thought. “Huh, she gave you fruit,” Sokka cranes his head to see the bag. “Guess she didn’t want hers.”

What? “What do you mean?” Zuko asks.

“Katara doesn’t like the dried fruit, but we make every warrior eat them so they don’t get sick.” _Every_ warrior? Thinks Zuko, slightly dizzy. “Fresh fruit is only reserved for special occasions in the military, but is accessible to most civilians,” Sokka continues, scratching his head. He obviously enjoys the shocked look on Zuko’s face. “Technically, warriors and soldiers count as civilians, but the navy and army likes to get the soldiers used to army rations. Hence the dried fruit.”

Zuko merely stares at Sokka. The whole implication of the Water Tribe having an organized military – including an army, no less – is shocking enough. But for some reason, the mere commodity of fruit is what grabs his attention. “Are you saying that you have _fresh_ fruit?” Zuko murmurs.

“Oh, yeah.” Sokka leans back, crossing his leg and grinning. “In fact, we have a surplus. Last year, we had some go bad. That’s why we dehydrate so much, and probably why Katara threw that at you.”

Zuko can’t believe this. He had thought that only the Fire Empire had the power and money to supply its citizens with fresh fruit. Planets in the Earth Kingdom territory rarely had fresh anything, and relied desperately on traded goods, exporting precious materials. But Zuko never thought the Water Tribe had anything to trade, except maybe traditional goods, furs, and jewelry. But the fact that they had the technology and science to grow fruit in this frozen tundra astounds Zuko. He begins wondering if other tribes are anywhere near as advanced as this one, which leads him to wonder why the Fire Empire doesn’t know about this.

Someone has been lying to the Fire Empire about the opposing rebels.

Sokka crosses her arms over his chest, watching Zuko closely. “So, _Lee._ Ready to answer some questions?”

Zuko’s eyes flit to Sokka’s face, narrowing them. “And why should I?” he asks as dangerously as he can. But Sokka remains unruffled by his tone.

“Because I answered yours, duh.” He flaps his hand at Zuko nonchalantly, an infuriatingly smug tone in his voice, much to Zuko’s outrage. “It’s _only_ fair.” Sokka doesn’t say the word _stupid_ , but Zuko hears the implication.

Zuko can see the logic behind that. He sighs deeply, then shrugs. He can’t possibly get into any more trouble than this. He straightens his back, and mentally prepares himself. “Alright,” he mutters. “Shoot.”

Sokka leans forward, resting his elbows on the metal table between the two of them. He gazes at Zuko for a moment over his crossed hands, eyebrows furrowed. Zuko wonders what he’s pondering.

“Do you like fire flakes?” Sokka asks. Zuko blinks.

“Uh,” Zuko eloquently says. “Sure?”

“Good, good. Me too. I just can never seem to eat them much. They’re pretty much a delicacy in this part of the neighborhood,” Sokka moans. Zuko waits patiently. “I hear they’re pretty popular in Sozin’s Nebula.”

These words bring Zuko to think of the home he hasn’t seen in four years. He thinks of the humid air, of the palace stretching out across the grounds, the white marble and ancient architecture an interesting juxtaposition to the swaying buildings that make up the metropolis of the Fire Empire’s capital. Across the night sky, the reds and oranges and even blues of fire spread out, glittering thousands of miles away but seeming so close, as if the sky were on fire with Sozin's Nebula.

“Sure,” Zuko replies stonily. “They’re cheap and tasty. Street food.”

“Yeah,” Sokka smiles dreamily. “ _Food_.”

Not for the first time, Zuko wonders what is wrong with this kid.

“Katara, on the other hand, hates them.” Sokka continues. “Katara hates everything about the Fire Empire. She hates their food, their fashion, and the people.” Zuko blinks again, watching Sokka, who in return carefully watches Zuko.

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Zuko returns crossly. “It’s already obvious.” He just can’t understand why. _They’re_ the savages and barbarians – don’t they want the technology that the Fire Empire has to offer, or the wisdom? The structure and protection?

“Do you know what she hates most of all, thought?” the other boy ignores his comment, his blue eyes suddenly so serious and hard. “ _Firebenders.”_

Zuko swallows hard. Sokka’s gaze is too piercing, making him uncomfortable. If… If they know that he is a firebender, then he’d have no chance of passing the judgement Sokka promised awaits him on land. But they have no proof, right? Sub-consciously, his eyes flicker to where he’d tested his firebending on the steel wall, then back to Sokka’s face. Too late, he realizes he’s given the very reaction Sokka needed.

Sokka leans back in his chair, his face emotionless. Then he sighs loudly. “Do you know _why_ she hates firebenders so much?” he asks softly. Zuko feels his breath catch in his throat. All he can think of are her eyes, filled with such an icy, burning hatred whenever she looks at him. A small part of him is afraid to hear the words about the come out of Sokka’s mouth. He’s afraid of viewing yet another Water Tribe barbarian as a human, as seeing them become more than a savage.

“Firebenders came in the middle of the day,” Sokka begins monotonously. “They attacked our village, as they had attacked countless villages before ours. They were looking for waterbenders and women.” Yes. Zuko has heard of these raids. He thought they had been banned, though, after a majority of the Tribes had surrendered. “When Katara was in our house with our mother, a man came in and slaughtered her right before Katara’s eyes.” Sokka’s eyes are piercing, and Zuko feels as if he had just been punched in the gut. “Mom had hidden her moments before, but six-year old Katara saw it all.

“Every. Last. Burn.”

There’s a moment of silence as Sokka finishes, and Zuko can’t look at Sokka. He feels as if he should comfort the boy in some way, thought he can’t even begin to reason why on earth he should. _It’s war, casualties happen,_ is his first logical idea, but that feels so sickengly wrong to Zuko that he instantly tosses it aside. The words that truly want to come out are _I’m sorry,_ but what does Zuko have to apologize for? The Fire Empire was simply trying to help the other nations, and only responded against Tribe violence with the same type. Besides, it wasn’t as if _Zuko_ had killed her mother, right?

“Just remember that, _Lee._ ” Sokka stands up. “Remember that when you wonder why she looks at you with hate, and why she might not hesitate to kill you if you turn out to be a firebender.” He turns to go, and as the door hisses open, the waterbender guard watching Zuko carefully, Sokka glances back to say casually, “And just for future reference, protein grease works wonders at getting scorch marks off the walls.”

Zuko watches the boy go, and feels his skin go cold. So he knows, then.

Zuko needs to escape this ship before they land.

* * *

He gets his chance sooner than he thinks. He’s ashamed to admit it, but he escapes the undignified way.

He paces the floor, back and forth, anxious about his trial. And oddly bored by the monotony of his incarceration. From his internal clock, he judges that it’s precisely been two weeks since he crashed his shuttle into the ocean. Uncle Iroh must be in a frenzy by now. Sokka comes in once a day, Katara accompanying him as his guard. Katara also comes in occasionally by herself, delivering him his protein block and package dried fruit. He’s still awed by the fact that she gives them away so freely, and she seems to find that amusing.

He’s also awed by the fact that she sits there and talks to him in that strange language of theirs. She glared at him for the first couple days, voice thick with anger and hatred as she talked to him, but then they turned into longer and longer talks. Now, she gazes distantly while she talks, sometimes upset, sometimes angry, sometimes smiling. Sometimes he responds with his own stories, just silly little ones his mother or uncle Iroh had told him in his youth. She always listens attentively, her face serious. He thinks she’s softening up a bit when he finally makes her smile one time when making a face at his protein block. Sokka had mentioned she was nurturing. Zuko still can’t see it, though. She looks nothing like his mother, acts nothing like his mother. His mother was pale and thin and tall, her golden eyes glimmering like a warm fire on a cool summer night. Katara is small and curvy, with dusky skin the color of rich, earthy soil. Her eye glitter sharply like a dagger made of water. Where his mother was soft and warm, like an ember smoldering in his heart, Katara is as hard and unforgiving as ice.

Sometimes, he thinks carefully while a small smile plays across her lips as she’s telling a story, she’s as beautiful as ice, too. But Zuko isn’t foolish enough to be taken in by her good looks. He’s been around enough court women who use their beauty as a weapon not to succumb to her charms. He also knows she’s a warrior that can defend herself, has seen the easy grace with which she moves in the ship, or slides into a bending stance when he moves too suddenly. But he thinks she’s melting underneath his good behavior and his careful attentiveness when she speaks to him in that thick, lilting language of hers. (He doesn’t want to say, but he likes hearing her speak Tribe. Where Fire Nation is all accents and speed, Tribe drips of her tongue like drops of water, her hands emphatically gesturing to the melody of her voice. (But of course, Tribe is a barbaric language, fit only for the filthy savages who speak it. It’s a novelty to hear her speak, that’s all.))

When Zuko tells his own stories, he speaks in Common. He’s not really sure why, but to speak in Nation on this ship just seems like a death wish. _Katara hates everything about the Empire,_ Sokka’s voice echoes. Everything? Zuko thinks distantly. How can she hate _everything_? How can she hate the fireflies glittering at night in the royal gardens? Or the three full moons glowing amongst the stars, amongst the wisps of Sozin’s Nebula, which streams across the sky like fire? How can she hate the thick, pregnant smell of the forest after it rains, heavily perfumed by lilies and orchids, blooming so gracefully and vividly, lush and full. How can she hate a place where she has never been, a place that Zuko loves so much and misses with every fiber of his being? His _home?_ He wonders this as he talks in Common, and as she talks in Tribe, and an uneasy truce settles between them. Zuko knows it’s only temporary.

One day, she drops her guard just enough for Zuko to take his chance.

She opens the door, like always. In her hand, she carries a tray with another one of those nauseating protein blocks, a packet of dried fruit, and a water bottle. She places it on the table and turns around to close the door, not bothering to keep an eye on him. Perhaps, in her mind, she thinks the table is enough to separate them and that she’ll hear him if he moved. However, that is totally untrue.

(Secretly, he wonders if it’s because she trusts him not to hurt her, to be a good prisoner. He hopes that’s not the case. He doesn’t want to betray anyone, doesn’t want to think his pretty, icy guard is capable of human mistakes like that. He doesn’t want to think of her as anything other than a violent barbarian.)

In a flash, Zuko scampers over the table, kicks her feet out from underneath her, snatches the card-key from her hands, and slips out the door before shutting it. He can hear her undignified squawk as she lands, can see the startled betrayal on her face as the door shuts between them. Zuko doesn’t feel bad though, he can’t afford to feel bad. His survival is top priority. She starts banging on the door, but Zuko knows for a fact nobody will be down here for at least another thirty minutes to an hour.

He hears what he believes to be swearing, and he smiles grimly. He sees the button besides the door that Sokka must use sometimes to speak over the cell’s intercom. He presses it, making eye contact with the angry waterbender.

“Katara, I’m sorry,” he says. “But I need to escape. I need…” he hesitates, his throat feeling oddly tight. “I need to restore my honor.”

Her angry eyes glare at him before pounding on the door again. Apparently his words hadn’t appeased her, even if their languages separate them. He stares at her for a few more seconds, wishing he could have honorably fought for his freedom instead of relying on trickery such as this. Then he turns away and tries to find his way out of this dismal ship.

The vessel proves more difficult to navigate than he previously thought. He hadn’t been paying attention on the way down those two weeks ago and now he berates himself for allowing his guard to drop even a little around the amicable Sokka. At one point, he almost runs into some mechanics clanking down the hallway, but he manages to slip into a supply closet in time. He counts to 15 after hearing their voices fade before slipping back out, looking around carefully.

He sighs quietly in relief before turning to continue, only to freeze rigidly.

In front of him stands a gaping Sokka with a guard just as surprised. Zuko manages to hold his startled, high-pitched shriek back quite well, he thinks.

After the initial jaw-dropping of everyone present, Sokka’s face quickly screws up in anger. “Lee,” Sokka growls. “We _trusted_ you!”

Zuko says nothing, only looks off to the side. _Trusted me?_ Zuko wonders. _Trusted me to do what?_ But he can’t say this aloud. At his silence, Sokka grabs his gun from his holster, holding it up to aim. The waterbender guard behind him slides into stance. Automatically, Zuko knocks the gun from Sokka’s grip, sweeping the other boy’s feet from under him. Sokka goes down with a grunt, and judging from his deep gasps, he’s lost his breath. Without pause, Zuko moves to disarm the guard.

_Always break a bender’s form,_ he hears Iroh say. _Their power comes from the root, the stance._ He grabs the arm outstretched towards him – _sloppy defense, slow reaction –_ and smoothly glides behind him, pinning the arm behind the waterbender’s back. The warrior growls, the water he’d been controlling falling to the metal floor with a splash. However, he manages to swing his other hand and foot with just enough power to force some remaining water into Zuko’s face. With the douse of freezing cold water, Zuko’s grip slackens just a bit, and the waterbender tries to wiggle out of it. But Zuko narrows his eyes, blinking out the water from his lashes. His grip tightens into an iron, vice-like hold, and he presses close to the waterbender’s back, reaching to grab his other arm. The guard struggles against him, but such close combat is obviously not this bender’s specialty. No surprise for a waterbender, Zuko thinks sneeringly, smashing the guard to the ground.

Sokka’s managed to get back up, scrambling for his gun. Zuko curses in Nation, untying his belt as fast as possible to tie the hands of the guard, slamming his head as gently as he can into the floor. He mutters a quick, silent apology to the now unconscious guard. From there, he lunges for the gun, barreling into Sokka just before the boy reaches his weapon. Sokka’s breath whooshes from him again, Zuko sitting on his stomach, his hands fisted in the boy’s thick blue uniform. Sokka stills, watching Zuko carefully. Both of them breathe heavily.

Sokka breaks the silence first. “Why are you running away, Lee?”

Zuko snorts, a shaky laugh. His fists tighten in the boy’s shirt. “Why are you keeping me a prisoner?”

Sokka protests, his voice whining. “You’re not a _prisoner._ We’re merely containing you for safety reasons – _yeesh!”_ Zuko snarls, interrupting Sokka, who’s raising his hands in surrender. “Ok, ok, I get it! Chill out!”

“I can’t just ‘chill,’” Zuko replies angrily. “I _need_ to get back to my ship.”

Sokka’s eyes narrow. “And why is that, _Lee?”_ he asks sarcastically. “So you can tell all your Fire Empire buddies about our base? So they can come back and kill someone else’s mother, like imperial soldiers killed mine?” At Zuko’s lack of an answer, Sokka laughs bitterly. “Yeah, no thank you.”

Zuko closes his eyes. He’s somewhat hurt that Sokka believes his first move would be to sell out this ship, this planet. Granted, Zuko _is_ obliged to release information on such an advanced rebel group, but… But he could have kept this a secret, in return for their help. Surely they didn’t pose so much of a threat that he needed to feel guilty. Besides, his current mission has nothing to do with the war, just finding a person.

Just restoring his honor.

“I wouldn’t sell you out,” Zuko murmurs softly, glaring at the other boy. His hands feel looser in the blue material, and he’s slightly worried his face might be reflecting the chaos he's feeling inside. Sokka’s own expression is vaguely amazed and greatly confused. Then, it’s surprised, his eyes flicking past Zuko’s face to somewhere behind him.

Zuko turns around just in time to see a furious Katara in a powerful stance, face twisted with fury and humiliation, her hands pulling a river of water behind her. It roars down the narrow hallway, sloshing first one way, then another, bouncing off the wall down towards them, like hundreds of tiny, frothy, thundering komodo-rhinos barging down on him. It splits around her, her arms spinning delicately and fiercely, propelling the water to move faster. Zuko’s jaw drops in sheer awe at her power. She stands like an angry, vengeful spirit, her skin almost ethereal in the blue light, her eyes practically glowing. Her hair billows in the breeze of the water surging past her, strands tearing free from her braid, spray splashing against her, like an artist’s final touches of a wrathful goddess. She’s terrifying and awe-inspiring, and for one moment she’s all he can see, all that exists for him -- and then he’s brought back when he hears Sokka curse underneath him. With a loud roar, the water envelops them.

This feeling is nothing like the weak bending the guard had hit him in the face with during their little scuffle. This sensation feels like he’s being slammed into a marble wall. There is no gentle caress of the water, only cold, rushing, anger. It picks him up and spins him around, clawing its way into his eyes, his nose, down his throat. And the _cold._ He feels the fire being leeched from his bones.

Then he slams into a metal wall. With a quick, jerky motion of her wrists, Katara freezes him to it. The water drips away from his face, and Zuko gasps in great gusts of air gratefully. Sokka lies shivering and gasping on the floor, but Katara barely spares him a glance as she steps over him, though she bends the water from him with a flick of her wrist. She continues walking towards Zuko, her braid swinging back and forth behind her, like a snake slithering toward its prey. Her feet quietly padding over the wet floor fills him with a sense of foreboding, and her dark expression makes him shiver more than the ice freezing him to a wall. For a waterbender, the anger on her face is as heated as any firebender, though the almost other-worldly fury he had seen before is gone. All he can see in her expression is Azula.

She whips out a finger to point at him. Her mouth opens, and in perfect, accentless Common, she snarls, “Fuck you, asshole.”

Zuko can only gape at her until Sokka, who had gotten up sometime, aims the gun at him and shoots. Zuko glances at him in shock, the stinging sensation in his leg surprising, for some dumb reason. Katara’s still glaring at him, but… But darkness is crashing down on him, and the last thing he sees is her turning around to hug Sokka, whispering, “I can’t believe I trusted him.”

Zuko blacks out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. I'm going to try and update on a weekly basis (for now). I have several chapters already written that I've nitpicked over and over so I figure they're ok to finally post. Once school starts, the schedule might change. :>  
> As always, thanks for the kudos and thanks for reading!


	4. Journey to the Water Tribe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zuko gets wet.

There’s a quiet tinkling of laughter. Zuko looks away from his calligraphy and glares over his shoulder suspiciously, glancing around for the dark, thick hair and red tunic of his sister. All he sees are the flowering trees outside of the garden pavilion.

“Zuko, what’s wrong, darling?” his mother asks, noticing his scowls.

“Azula’s laughing at me again,” he mutters fiercely, grip tightening on his brush. His mother delicately peers over him, eyes flitting around as she searches for her youngest child. After a few seconds, she sighs, her cool, umber eyes returning to Zuko’s sulking face.

“And what makes you think that?” she asks mildly, her melodic voice soothing. Zuko shrugs half-heartedly, throwing his brush down and fisting his hands on the table.

“Because Azula likes to mock me,” Zuko responds bitterly. How can his mother not see this? All Azula ever does is put him down time and time again, try to make him look bad, and dishonor him in front of his family. His mother frowns gently at him and reaches across the table softly for his hand. Her fingers are as pale as the lilies she likes to tend to in the palace garden. Zuko can’t help but place his hand in hers.

Zuko’s amazed once again by the poise and grace his mother possesses. Everything she does seems to have a purpose, as if no movement is wasted. He’s reminded of the cranes that he sometimes spots wading the streams in the royal forest, their long, graceful necks and elegant legs carefully picking their way through the water. Azula seems to have inherited this same grace, though hers is much more predatory, like their father’s. Zuko doesn’t want to admit it, but he burns with envy at the smooth way she learns the bending forms and sneaks around the palace. Her laughter and mockery only make it worse.

“Azula isn’t laughing at you or trying to hurt you on purpose,” Ursa assures him. Zuko glares at his mother, tightening his hand. _Then she's fooling you like she fools everyone else_ _!_ He thinks, but he hasn’t the heart to get a full fury worked up and to yell at his beloved mother. Her cool fingers squeeze his snugly. “She just has difficulties expressing herself.”

“Azula finds nothing difficult!” Zuko snaps, snatching his hand from his mother’s grasp. He’s hurt that his mother is defending Azula, who so obviously pokes and prods at Zuko’s pride. She’s constantly making snide remarks in the disguise of smiling compliments, but her amber eyes glitter with effortless amusement and – even worse, in Zuko's opinion – sly pity. It frustrates Zuko to no end.

Ursa smiles sadly, her hand hesitating for a moment more on the table, alone, before tucking it back into her sleeve. “Azula isn’t the only one who has trouble expressing herself,” she murmurs softly.

Zuko tilts his head, puzzled. But Ursa merely smiles fondly.

“Now, tell me about these waterbenders of yours,” she says. Zuko’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.

 _“Waterbenders?”_ he questions, a nagging sensation tugging in his mind. Something like a memory flits about, tantalizingly close. _Blue light, metal walls. A giant wave hurtling at him and the iciest pair of eyes he’s ever seen, bluer and brighter than even Azula’s fire._ “What about them?”

There’s more giggling around him, and he snaps his head towards the direction of the noise, glaring fiercely. He sees movement behind a plum tree, and he half moves towards that direction.

“Why, the waterbenders who are your friends? Remember?” Ursa asks mildly, her smile slightly frozen in puzzlement. Concern glimmers in her soft, golden eyes. “You can’t stop talking about them.” Her smile thaws a bit, and her eyes crinkle with fondness. “I’m so proud of you, Zuko, for helping them, and for standing up for what you believe in.”

He flushes at her praise, then diverts his gaze away. Zuko stares at the trees a moment more, carefully watching the shadows that flit through them and listening to the incessant giggling. There’s more shadows than he previously thought, and he can’t think of why he ever thought that laughter belonged to Azula. The laughter no longer makes him panicked and ashamed; in fact, he’s totally forgotten about Azula. That laughter seems so familiar, though. He thinks he recognizes some of shadows, two in particular. “Yes,” he mutters absently, straining his neck to peer at them. “My friends…”

One shadow stops, and giggles again. This giggle is different from the previous mocking ones – or maybe Zuko is just interpreting it differently. Because this laugh doesn’t make him angry or defensive. This one sends shivers down his spine and into his core, a delightful pool of warmth uncoiling there. He swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry. Eyes peer out at him from among spinning plum petals, eyelashes lowered seductively… What color are they? He thinks desperately. He knows with a tightening of his chest and a pull in his gut that he wants those eyes pinned to his while that soft, sensual laughter continues.

“She’s beautiful,” his mother remarks.

“She is,” Zuko agrees. But he doesn’t even know who she is, except for a nameless longing deep inside his chest. Yet somehow…

“Wake up,” his mother says suddenly. Zuko turns his face back to her, confused. She rolls her eyes, gives an exasperated sigh quite unlike her, and annoyingly chuckles. “Rise and shine, fire buddy. You don’t want Katara to give you a cold dousing, do you?”

Zuko stares at his mother, jaw gaping, until she reaches across the table between them, dumping ink all over him.

Zuko jolts awake, a cold wetness trickling down his entire face and onto his clothes. He sputters once, blinking blearily into the harsh, cold light until he can get his bearings.

Two brown faces peer down at him, both containing sets of frightfully chilly blue eyes. One of the people has her hand outstretched, more water shivering in her grasp. Zuko leans away from that water, uneager to receive a second dousing.

“I’m awake!” he protests weakly, struggling to sit up. He quickly discovers that he’s chained to a chair in an unfamiliar room. He squirms a bit, then gives up, realizing the futile effort. Bruises spot the parts of skin that he can see, and what he can’t see, Zuko can most definitely feel. His head throbs dangerously, and his shoulder aches too much to simply be a bruise. When he tries to move it, he can’t – the shoulder is simply limp.

“About time!” Sokka scolds, leaning away with Katara, who continues to glare dangerously at Zuko. He’s almost surprised by the venom in her expression. Almost. He remembers the look of hurt and betrayal when he locked her in his prison. She obviously won't be forgiving him any time soon, if the thought to do so even crosses her mind. “See, I told you he doesn’t need another one.”

Katara snorts and wiggles her fingers dangerously. “Let’s give him another one, just to make sure.” Hearing that flawless Common come out of her mouth makes Zuko’s heart patter in surprise. So that hadn’t been a mistake then. She spoke Common the entire time. Zuko can feel the beginnings of a sheepish flush begin to stain his pale cheeks. And he told all those stories, too… Why couldn’t he have said them in Fire Nation?

Sokka rubs his chin ponderously. “My arm _does_ still hurt,” Sokka muses, glancing at Zuko, whose mind returns to their scuffle during Zuko’s attempted escape. “Ah, hell, why not. Douse him again. He looks a little sleepy.”

Cold water washes over Zuko, Katara’s round face splitting into a gleeful grin. Zuko suffers through the torment, spitting out the water that gets into his mouth. “Alright, alright, you’ve tormented the poor boy enough for now. We’ll resort to water torture later, for when he doesn’t give us truthful answers when we’ve asked so nicely.” Sokka gives him a meaningful look. Zuko blinks through the water dripping into eyes, frowning at the other boy. Katara bares her teeth at him, as if thrilled by the prospect of torturing him. Zuko leans away from her, realizing they obviously know he’s been lying.

Maybe Uncle was right. Maybe Zuko should just stick to fighting and training and leave the lying to him.

“Sorry about the change of accommodations,” Sokka says casually, leaning against the wall. “After you locked Katara in your old cell, she kind of, um…” he trails off, glancing disapprovingly at his sister. Katara doesn’t look ashamed though; rather, her grin grows even more feral, eye brows furrowed.

“I destroyed the door,” she answers him smugly. Zuko tries to keep the widening of his eyes to a minimum; that door had been solid metal, and she destroyed it with the softest element, _waterbending?_ Sokka rolls his eyes and waves his hands in the air with exasperation.

“Unbelievable. _Another_ door. I’m going to start charging you for all the property damage you cause.”

Katara blinks innocently at him and says something sweetly in Tribe. Sokka looks shocked. “You kiss Gran-gran with that mouth!” he protests, hand covering his heart, appalled.

Zuko coughs loudly, interrupting their bickering. They both pause, freezing slightly, as if forgetting he was there. “While this sibling banter is very endearing,” Zuko mutters dryly. “What are you planning to do with me?”

The siblings look at each other for a long moment, having a silent conversation with plenty of hand waving, eyebrow raising, and elbowing. At first, it looked as if Katara would win, but in the end, she stomps off to the corner with her hands in the air in defeat, braid waving angrily behind her like a tail.

“Well, fire-buddy, my boy,” Sokka begins, crouching down beside Zuko. “We’re going to take you to the mainland, and we’re going to put you through the Trial.”

Zuko shivers. The way Sokka had said “Trial” made the word seem slightly ominous; it carried weight when he said it. This is no ordinary trial that Sokka speaks of. The boy’s face held reverence when he said the word, and even Katara’s face slid into one tight with fear and awe. Zuko’s a little nervous to face the surely barbaric trial that he’s to face at the hands of the Water Tribe. While Sokka probably has a very strong suspicion, they don’t know for sure that he’s a firebender -- _yet_. Zuko was shocked to find this out, but in the outer core of the Empire, most planets do not take to firebenders well.

“But before that, Katara’s going to fix you up proper.” Sokka’s voice breaks through Zuko’s musings, and he looks up at the other boy. Katara snorts loudly, crossing her arms as if the idea doesn’t appeal to her. Irritated, Zuko thinks that if she caused the damage, she can at least have the decency to fix him up a bit.

Katara sighs loudly, irritated herself. She stomps over to Zuko, glaring at him. Her eyes glitter maliciously, as if daring him to try something. Zuko believes he’s learned his lesson; after seeing her feat of strength in the hallway, felt it pick him up like a leaf on the wind and slam him into solid metal, he’s feeling just a tad bit more cautious. Besides, he doesn’t think he can move all that well currently.

Katara pulls more water out of her pouch; Zuko flinches. “I thought you said she was going to tend to my injuries!” he protests, a snarl thick in his tone. Sokka tuts condescendingly, covering up Katara’s dark muttering.

“I did.” Sokka gestures at his sister, whose hand is wreathed in the water. “And that’s what she’s going to do, if you’re done fussing, your _majesty_.”

Zuko feels his blood run cold at the name, but from Katara’s snickering, he judges that it was just a joke. He thought for a moment that they had realized who he is… But they can’t have. Zuko glares at the both of them before closing his eyes.

“Just… Get your _thing_ over with…” he mutters.

Since his eyes are closed, it feels like an eternity before Katara’s soft hands touch his shirt. He flinches, stiffening in shock when she begins to unbutton it. His eyes shoot open, cheeks flushing, but at her cool look he clamps down on his embarrassment. Of course. This is purely professional. She’s merely assessing his injuries. Her blue eyes flick up to meet his, and she chuckles at his expression. 

He distracts himself with her glowing hand. It shimmers and shines, a soft light coming from the water that coats her hand like a glove. When she touches his abs, he feels his breath catch; her hand is cool and comforting on his skin, and he feels the water penetrate deep within him. His eyes widen in awe as the ache inside him eases a bit, and he feels himself relax into her touch, his eyes closing. The throbbing of the bruises fades while she concentrates on healing him. He opens his eyes a slit to continue watching her. Her face is smooth, no anger furrowing her brow or disgust wrinkling her nose or frustration curling her lip. Her expression is totally concentrated, her tongue sticking out a bit. She’s really very pretty, he thinks absently. Her blue eyes glow in her round, dark face; her thick, curly hair is glossy and wild, barely tamed into a braid.

She’s so different from any of the courtly ladies from back home, or the women soldiers in his crew. There’s elegance in her, of course, a sort of grace that only a master bender can have. But she has callouses on her hand, and her face is chapped by the wind and cold, her lips a little dry. He can see every pore on her face, and while he knows it’s rude to even notice these tiny details, he stares. She doesn’t seem ephemeral or other-worldly now that she’s not surrounded by a maelstrom of vengeful water – she feels real and present, just as weary and hardened as himself. As if she can feel his eyes on her, she flicks her own up, blue irises peering through thick, lowered eyelashes.

Zuko feels his breath hitch just a bit in memory of his dream. He’s just startled by the resemblance, that’s all. He’s definitely _not_ feeling nervous and… _boyish_ underneath her scrutiny. Just surprised. Yes. That’s it.

“What?” she snaps, an annoyed tone evident in her voice. “Can you _not_ stare? I’m not going to hurt you, you know.”

Zuko snaps his gaze away to somewhere else. He catches Sokka shrugging in the corner, watching with diffidence. Katara finishes with his front and stands behind him to work on his back, where the majority of the pain is. She gives a cautionary look towards Sokka before unchaining Zuko. “Lean forward,” she snaps aggressively, but as she pushes him forward, her touch is gentle.

“Ah, shit.” She mutters sheepishly at some point from behind him. Zuko stiffens at her apparent embarrassment.

“What is it?” Sokka asks for him, his voice concerned.

“I think I, er, dislocated your shoulder earlier.”

“You _what?”_ squawked Sokka. Zuko’s honestly not surprised, though. He figured something had to be messed up with how much his shoulder’s hurting. He’s not looking forward to what Katara will have to do to reset it, though. During a sparring match one time with one of the crew, Zuko had gotten his shoulder wrenched hard enough to dislocate it. Uncle had to set it again, his face oddly calm and serious at the time. Those are sounds and pain that Zuko would rather forget.

So when Katara whispers a quick sorry, and pulls on his arm before he realizes, there’s no time to prep himself to hold back his bellow of pain. He can feel distantly the coolness of her water soaking into his skin, but a blinding fire of pain washes over him, radiating heat from his shoulder. He hears a small “pop” as it slides back into place, and then tentative relief. The feeling of numbness spreads, and he hears Katara sigh gratefully. In the corner, Sokka is gagging exaggeratedly.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she says lowly, her voice unexpectedly soft in his ear, and he can almost hear a smile in her voice. His body tightens with recognition; when she walks by him, he almost expects to see long red sleeves and pale skin, gentle golden eyes. But instead a girl with skin the color of healthy earth and cerulean eyes steps into view, a soft grin tugging at her lips. Zuko’s not sure whether it’s the shock of his dislocated shoulder or the surprise at seeing her smile at him, but suddenly he’s reminded of what Sokka had said about Katara earlier.

 _“I think she was checking to see if you were injured from the crash.”_ He had said. “ _She’s just a sucker for showing off to people how nurturing she is.”_

Zuko hadn’t believed him at the time, scoffing at the word “nurturing” applying to a girl who did nothing but snarl at him and interrogate him in a foreign language -- but he can now. He stares at her, stunned. In her smile, he can see something that’s too familiar, something he doesn’t want to see here, on a ship of barbarians where he is merely a prisoner awaiting trial. Katara, watching him as well, suddenly frowns. Her eyes are gazing at something on his face, and her expression darkens. With a deep, gut-wrenching shock, Zuko knows that she’s staring at his scar, that it reminds her of fire, which in turn reminds her of her mother’s murderer. Zuko looks at his feet, face flushing with horror and anger. How _dare_ she look at his scar and judge him, when she knows nothing about the struggles he’s gone through?

“We can’t have the Fire scum injured for the Trial,” she says sharply, speaking over him to her brother. “It’ll affect the Judging.” Zuko stiffens at the insult, gritting his teeth to keep his retort in check. However, even worse for him is that her nurturing smile is gone, and Zuko feels slightly cold.

Sokka rubs the back of his head, the prickly hairs making a soft rasping sound against his hands. “Yeah, I guess so. Though ‘scum’ is a little much, even for you…”

Katara does nothing except snort and move away from Zuko. He grits his teeth, the familiar feeling of anger surging outward within him, and it’s difficult to keep steam from pouring out of his mouth. Being angry, he reasons, is so much easier than being ashamed.

“Is he all healed?” Sokka asks Katara. She grunts, jerking her chin in affirmation. All healed is a bit of an overstatement, Zuko thinks wryly. His muscles still ache from the blast he received from Katara, though she fixed all of his more pressing injuries. _For the trial…_

To be quite frank, Zuko is more than a little nervous about the trial. The absolute mystery of it scares him. What sort of things would he have to do to please a race of savage people? Fight to the death, like an Agni Kai? Eat raw flesh? Sacrifice himself? Brave the wintery depths of this hellish planet? The possibilities grow more and more obscure in his mind, the scenarios becoming more dramatic. He clamps down on his imagination before things can get even more grisly. Anything they throw at him, he can face. After all, he’s been through worse and survived… He skitters away from thoughts of his father and sister to focus on the siblings in front of him.

Katara is standing in the corner while Sokka sits down in front of Zuko. He coughs nervously, looking a little sheepish. Zuko is instantly suspicious.

“What did you do?” he accuses Sokka. The other boy jumps, his hands going up. Zuko almost chuckles at the guilty expression on his face, but this isn’t the place, or the time. This boy is an _enemy._ But it’s so hard to remember that when the enemy is a goofy boy.

Zuko clamps down on those and forces his face to be stern and angry. It’s not difficult. The anger is always there, shimmering under his skin like coals.

“Uhm,” Sokka says. “I may or may not have searched your body thoroughly when you were passed out.”

Zuko widens his eyes. At first, all he can think of are Sokka observing his naked, unconscious body – _weird. Definitely weird. And mortifying._ – and his face flushes. But just as quickly, the blood drains from his face as he realizes the implications of a full body search.

 _He found the I.D. I carry on the ship…_ He thinks. _He knows who I am._

To be honest, Zuko had forgotten about the card he keeps on his person at all times, containing his information and the access codes needed to get around his ship. The card system was totally outdated and useless with current technology, but Zuko hadn’t had much choice in ships when he was first exiled. He never really thought of what would happen if his I.D. card would be found… Which it now had. And it had mostly everything on there.

 _They still don’t necessarily know I’m a prince…_ He hopes. _It only said my name, age, and rank on the ship._

Sokka leans closer, pulling out the I.D. “So your name is Zuko, huh?” he asks casually, turning the card over to observe it. “ _Captain_ Zuko – impressive!” Zuko doesn’t respond. “Come on, man, this has your picture on it.” He waves the card in front of Zuko, where there is indeed a photo from when Zuko first came into command of the ship. Zuko hates that photo of himself. His scar is still raw and shiny, his head completely shaved from where the medic stitched him up. The medic had the capabilities of fixing the scar, but his father had commanded that Zuko bear his shame and had forbidden the doctor from healing it. Zuko looks away from the photo.

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else you need to tell me, besides the fact that you're blood type B?” Sokka asks next, mock shuddering as he reads off the I.D. card. “Because if you tell me now, the consequences won’t be as dire later.”

Zuko hesitates. Should he say out loud that he’s a firebender? He knows Sokka had made a comment, and he’s more than sure that Sokka believes he’s a firebender. But what about Katara? Honestly, she’s the one Zuko is more wary of. After seeing her bending – _no one told him waterbending was so strong. How is it inferior? He would have been more prepared –_ he knows she’s not to be trifled with. Does she know? Sokka’s warning rings in his head. _Katara hates everything about the Fire Empire,_ Sokka had said. _Mom had hidden her, and six-year old Katara saw it all. Every. Last. Burn._

Zuko swallows, hard.

“No,” he says emotionlessly.

Sokka gives a deep sigh, rubbing his face. “Well, alright buddy.” He mutters. “Just remember when old Sokka boy gave you a chance.”

Zuko doesn’t respond, and Sokka frowns, his eyes unusually somber. “We’re close to the village. I’ll get you when we dock.” Sokka stands up, brushes invisible dust off, and sidles out of the cell. Katara reminds behind a moment longer, hands on her large hips to glare at him carefully.

“Watch yourself,” she says quietly, seriously. “And be honest at the Trial.”

Zuko’s so surprised that he feels it overcome his expression. He feels uncomfortably vulnerable in her sudden warning, but before he can ask Katara about what she means, she’s gone and the metal door is closing, leaving him alone.

Zuko leans back in his chair, dreading the moment they dock.

 

* * *

 

He knows instantly when they’re close. He can feel the rumbling of the ship as it brakes. Zuko straightens his back as he meditates, calming his breathing and stuttering heart. No matter what, he’s determined to face whatever comes with dignity and grace, like an imperial prince of a galactic empire should.

Sokka comes in to retrieve him a few hours later, Katara close behind them. They say nothing, their faces somber. Zuko looks once at Sokka’s thin, angular face and Katara’s round, planed one. Sokka stands by the door, hand on his gun while Katara cuffs him in a strange kind of mechanic-cuff. When she closes the cuffs, though, they emit a hum and make his hands numb, and he mutely stares – his hands can no longer bend fire. He supposes this is insurance to prevent him from firebending. He sees her carrying a muzzle, too, but Sokka shakes his head when Katara glances at him questioningly. Zuko’s grateful. He doesn’t think he could bear the shame if he had to wear it.

The walk up to the deck seems to take forever. The blue light makes all the cold hallways look the same, the metal clicking beneath their feet like a funeral march. Zuko takes deep, even breaths, struggling to keep his iron mask in place – always a difficult task for him, even at the best of times. When they finally reach the top deck of the ship, Zuko almost cries out in bliss. For the first time in weeks, he feels the warm touch of the sun on his skin. Inside him, he feels his inner fire kindle, giving him some hope. Maybe this Trial won’t be so bad, he begins to reasons. After all, they _are_ only barbarians…

But are they really? He wonders as he looks at the city sprawling before him. He shakes his head in wonder. It’s huge, far larger than any city he’s ever been told that the Water Tribe lived in. The white buildings, made of some glimmering metal the color of snow, spread across the ground, intricate waterways snaking through them. Beautiful ice sculptures line the edges of all the streets, and blue-clad Tribesmen and women dot the sidewalks beside the canals. There’s a crowd gathered to welcome them.

At first, there’s cheering and a grand hullabaloo. People everywhere are shouting in Tribe and laughing and crying, hugging the people coming off the ship. Zuko’s bewildered. This almost seems like a mission ship returning home… Is it? He glances at Sokka from the corner of his eye. The boy wears a tight, regal expression, muttering something to an older, stern looking man beside him. The man nods, and then pushes into the crowd, shouting something over their yelling.

The crowd instantly silences, and hundreds of blue eyes turn to stare at him.

Zuko’s instantly floored by the looks in those eyes. Distrust, rage, terror, and disgust line every face. Sokka pushes in front of Zuko, as if shielding him, and he begins to shout words in Tribe, gesturing emphatically. If Zuko wasn’t being stared at by hundreds of hostile foreigners, he would have noted the oration skills of Sokka, of how the boy spoke with a strong, clear, and persuasive voice. How the people listened to him attentively and seemed to believe whatever he was saying.

“He’s telling them about you,” a voice whispers in his ear. Zuko recognizes it as Katara, and he barely manages to restrain his flinching. He’s on edge, and her hot breath in his ear isn’t helping.

“I guessed,” he replies. Katara laughs quietly. It’s not a very nice laugh.

“He’s saying that you’re our… I’m not really sure if there’s a word in Common, but our ‘prisoner,’” she continues. “Sort of like a guest, but we do not fully trust you yet. And we’re taking you here to put you through the Trial to see whether or not you are good.”

There’s a gasp in the crowd as Sokka explains, just as Katara translated. Their faces all tighten up – some look eager, others awed, others still worried. Zuko swallows. Sokka finishes then, throwing his fist in the air and shouting something. They all respond in kind, and then slowly disperse. A few stragglers watch as Zuko is escorted towards a waiting vehicle in the water. Katara shouts at them aggressively, waving water around. Thy move out of the way easily, but they throw disdainful looks at her. Zuko’s puzzled by the people’s expressions as Katara passes by them, creating a buffer zone for Sokka and Zuko to travel in. They look disapproving of her, or even revolted. However, Katara doesn’t change expression except to shout commands in Tribe, pushing through the last of blue-clad people. Zuko quickly casts a look at Sokka, but he can’t discern any other expression besides the oddly serious and regal Sokka.

Finally, they reach the canal where the strange watership waits for them. Zuko has to stop and stare at the utter ridiculousness of it. It has an archaic design, almost like one of those wooden palanquins that all of the holobooks display in every firebender’s classroom during lessons. It’s blue and white, smooth, polished wood that glimmers like the snow on the ground. It’s oblong with a seat on top for a waterbender to sit – which is currently occupied – and a door that leads into the belly of the wooden structure.

“This was made by our ancestors thousands of years ago,” Sokka explains quietly behind Zuko. He turns his face to the other boy, feels his hot breath on his scarred cheek. “From when they first settled this planet. They say Tui and La themselves helped construct them, by sealing them with the breath of La and the kiss of Tui.” Zuko can’t believe such an archaic object as this still exists – it looks like it’ll capsize at the first sign of a storm. Sokka elbows him hard in the rib, and continues in a joking tone, “Dude, I know what you’re thinking, but these have lasted for years without showing any signs of wearing. We may have lost the art of making them, but they’re still durable.” Dubiously, Zuko gives them once last glare before Sokka pushes him forward to slide into the plush, blue interior of the watership. 

They all slide in, while the waterbender on top of the vehicle pushes them through the water. It submerges, and Zuko’s suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Katara notes his expression of discomfort and smirks. Sokka stares out the window into the watery depths. No one speaks.

The vehicle slows outside an underwater building. Katara swipes her hand and the water outside the door moves aside, making a dry corridor floored with ice extending to the building. Zuko is shoved out first, then Sokka, his gun at Zuko’s back, tailed by Katara, her arms dancing around her head. Once inside, she releases her hold on the water and salutes the waterbender who drove them. He nods briefly before pulling the vehicle upwards, and is lost to view as Katara freezes the entryway to prevent water seeping in. Zuko is prodded inside, but he catches the wistful expression on her face before she wipes the emotion away.  

 _Huh,_ he thinks, momentarily startled. _So that’s how it is._

A sharp jab in his back forces him forward, and Sokka’s jarring voice interrupts him. “Ok, buddy, onwards.”

Zuko gifts him with a disdainful toss of his head, to which Sokka only laughs. “Alright, your lordliness, jeez. Can we get a move on, though?” Before Zuko can answer though, Katara sweeps by, hissing, “Hurry up! Chief is waiting,” before forging ahead of them.

Sokka hesitates, a jumble of complicated expressions crossing his face before he pulls Zuko with him. “She’s right,” he grimly says, humor gone. “The Chief is waiting.”

The tunnels they lead Zuko through are nothing like the pristine, clean walkways above ground These are dingy, damp, and cold. Every several hundred yards, a wall of ice blocks the way. Zuko assumes this is meant to fend off firebenders in particular, since these walls are so thick that it would take a while for several firebenders to melt through while simultaneously providing ammo for any waterbender caught in the hallway with an enemy. It takes Katara only an effortless, graceful sweep of her arms to create a doorway for them, and another one to seal it up. There’s no way to quickly escape, Zuko thinks, at least not by this route.

Eventually, the tunnel leads to a thick metal door (that same, glittering white color. _Platinum_? He wonders) and Katara knocks on it, hard, and says something in Tribe. After a few moments, a small slot slides open and a brown face with icy blue eyes peers out. He questions Katara, and she says something back, obviously angry. Those icy blue narrow at her – Zuko realizes he’s smirking – before sliding over to question Sokka. In a much more respectful tone, the stranger asks again in Tribe. Sokka answers tersely, grip tight on Zuko. The slot slides shut, and then the door creaks up, groaning.

At this point, they blind-fold Zuko. His only surprise is that they haven’t done this earlier. Blind-folding him won’t have much effect, he thinks wryly. He’ll just memorize the turns and the feel of the floor beneath his feet. Also at this point, Katara takes a grip on his arm to help steer him. Zuko doesn’t know where Sokka is, but her cool hands clench his bicep firmly, angrily even. But he’s too busy concentrating on memorizing the twists to pay much attention to her, until she hisses, “Stop that.”

He doesn’t answer her at first, irritated that she had broken his concentration, but at her second hiss, he responds monotonously, “Stop what?”

“Stop counting,” she mutters back. “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”

“What _am_ I doing?” Zuko asks innocently. “I could just be bored and talking to myself. Because you guys are such great hosts.”

Katara sarcastically laughs and squeezes his arm harder. Her hand is so tiny that it won’t even wrap around his bicep, but she has strength in those fingers, enough to force him to stop walking. He feels her stand on her tip-toes to reach his ear, her plush front pressing into his arm, her breasts and stomach soft against him.

“You’re trying to memorize an escape route,” she whispers in his ear, breath surprisingly warm against his cheek. “But it won’t work.”

Zuko debates with himself for a few seconds. He’s not particularly surprised she found out – he _had_ been whispering underneath his breath. But he’s wary about asking why, since she so very obviously wants to tell him. He decides to not answer her, and to let her explain.

“The tunnels change,” she whispers, even softer, mouth so close to his ear it sends shivers down his spine. He can imagine her lips right by his ear, his good one, brushing against his cheek and his earlobe, against his neck… “The waterbenders change it every day, blocking certain parts off and opening other tunnels up. It’s a maze down here.”

Zuko leans into her face sharply, cheek colliding with her lips and he feels her breath whoosh out in surprise, splaying hot against his face, and she is forced to step down. He hears her crash back to her heels, other hand coming up to grab his arm for support. He smiles a little, turning his blind-folded face towards her. “And where is ‘here’ exactly?” he asks, just a little smug. At least, he hopes he looks smug and not unnerved by her close proximity. Which he’s not.

She snarls something at Tribe at him before tugging him forward. He can feel her hand on his arm growing colder and colder until it almost burns him, as if punishing him for not being perturbed by her words. He _is_ , of course; but then, Azula has been playing her mind games with him for years, and Katara is not nearly as slippery and tricky as her. Maybe just as vicious, but not as unnecessarily cruel. They walk the rest of the way in cold silence.

Eventually, they stop. There’s muttering around him, the sound of a sealed door hissing as it opens, and then he’s lead into a slightly warmer room with soft carpeting beneath his feet; his blindfold is removed. As he looks around, Sokka and Katara remain with him but the other guards leave. The room is a cool blue, but the lighting is a more neutral, bright white color. The walls are dappled, painted carefully to mimic the reflection of light on water. Everything is trimmed in satin white, smooth and icy. A beautiful table stands in the middle of the room, its dark wood shining. Chairs with blue velvet upholstery are pulled up to it, and a servant stands in the corner with refreshments.

Oddly… Comfortable. And so modern.

Katara pushes him towards a chair at the end of the table. She unties his hands quickly, but glares at him as if to say, _I’m still watching you._ Sokka takes a seat on the other side, immediately right to the head of the table. Katara melts into the background, her blue tunic camouflaging her. The servant comes up to him and offers him an assortment of delicacies. There’s a terse sort of atmosphere, much like the war council meetings at home.

Eventually, the door opens and there’s the sound of boots on carpet. Zuko looks up to see a stern looking Water Tribe man. He’s middle-aged, even darker than Sokka and Katara, browned by days in the winter sun. Currently, his face is pulled into a tight, controlled expression, but Zuko can pick out deep laugh-lines around his eyes and mouth. And his eyes are a gentle, cerulean blue, exactly like Sokka’s.

“Greetings, Zuko,” he says, standing behind the chair at the head of the table. His Common is good, though his accent is thicker than either Sokka’s or Katara’s, carrying hints of the melodic trills that the Tribe language is made of. “We welcome you to our Water Tribe, and I hope your journey here has been… Comfortable.” Zuko refrains from rolling his eyes, and he notices the look the man gives Sokka and Katara and they both look a little sheepish. “My name is Hakoda, and I am chief of this tribe.”

Zuko’s jaw almost drops; _the_ Hakoda? This rebel has been a thorn in his father’s side since the last time the great resistance force had been squashed, almost twenty years ago. Many a war council meeting that Zuko and Azula had eavesdropped on had contained complaints about the mysterious Water Tribe rebel who appeared suddenly, ransacked an imperial outpost or freed valuable prisoners at an important meteor-prison, and then disappeared without a trace. So _this_ is the man that has one of the highest bounties on his head in the entire galactic empire. _This_ is the great strategist of the rebel resistance, the great plunderer of imperial outposts, the great _hero_ for the common people.

Zuko realizes just how careful he needs to be.

Zuko stares at Hakoda, hoping his face hasn’t betrayed any emotion. Hakoda still chuckles. “So, you recognize my name?” he laughs, albeit coldly. His deep voice sounds full and, were they in happier times, almost jolly. However, in the current situation, he is simply threatening and intimidating. “I am not surprised. I understand that I have… Quite the price for my capture.” At this point, he casually leans forward, crossing his tightly corded, muscular arms, grinning. “I must be quite the annoyance to the empire, no?”

Zuko shrugs half-heartedly. “I can only assume so,” Zuko responds. And then, just for politeness sake's: “Uh, sir.”

Hakoda throws his head back and laughs. Zuko can’t help but notice the man’s sharp canines. _Cannibals laughing as they roast their victims alive, and use their skin for clothing,_ Azula had whispered mockingly to him one night when he couldn’t sleep. Zuko clears his throat. He’s not afraid. He’s the son of emperor Ozai. He’s not afraid of anything, especially not a stupid rebel.

“I like ‘sir,’” Hakoda chuckles, wiping away a tear of mirth. “You know how to show respect. Good.”

Now, Hakoda sits down, Sokka to his right and Katara drifting out of the corner to stand slightly behind him at his left, hands clasped behind her back. All of Zuko’s focus is pinned to this man, who demands so much attention and respect. Hakoda crosses his fingers and looks over them at Zuko, as if pondering.

“My children tell me that you are to face the Trial,” Hakoda says.

Children? Zuko’s eyes dart from Katara to Sokka, whose expressions betray nothing. Well that explains the chilling resemblance to Sokka. He swallows thickly, and replies, “So I’ve heard.”

Hakoda’s eyes narrow. “You see, we are facing a difficult situation.” He gives a deep sigh, his blue gaze pinning Zuko to his chair, as if somehow displeased. Zuko feels a chill descend his spin. When fathers in positions of powers fixed a displeased expression like that on him, it never ends well. He licks his lips and tries to listen to what Hakoda is saying. “My children promised this thing to you, but only great dishonored Tribe warriors have faced the Trial,” Hakoda says. Sokka straightens, his face growing grimmer and his eyes flicking in Zuko’s direction briefly before staring respectfully away. “However, you are not a Tribe warrior, and I have no idea as to the state of your honor.”

His honor? Not really something he wants to talk about with an infamous rebel.

“Normally, foreigners receive a simple trial, judged by a jury of Tribe elders. If they are deemed hostile, we imprison them or execute them. Times are difficult, you must realize,” Hakoda explains, flattening his hands on the wooden table. “If foreigners are judged to be benign or neutral, we keep them here with the tribe and integrate them into our community. In order to protect the people living here, these foreigners are not allowed to leave. _This_ is the normal trial you should be facing.

“But my son told me he thinks you deserve a different trial, of sorts.” Here, Hakoda’s piercing stare turns to Sokka, who turns to meet his father’s stare with equal sternness. After a few moments of this, Hakoda turns back to Zuko. “He told the tribe here about it without my knowledge or consent, and they all appear to like this idea. And I, as their chief, must go along with their desires.” Hakoda's deep blue eyes stare at Zuko, his mouth firm. Zuko can hear his own heart pounding, the blood rushing past his ears.

“Zuko, you will face the Trial of Water and be judged by the spirits themselves onto whether you live or die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I had this chapter already written, and I was trying to time them so they were being released weekly while I wrote more, but then I started college and was dealing with some stuff and this kind of fell off my plate... But don't worry! I have not abandoned this, especially after coming back and finding all the wonderful reviews! Thanks a bunch, they really made my night!


	5. Trial of Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Zuko has to face the test of the Water Tribe

There’s a chilled silence in the room. Then Hakoda breaks it by standing up and saying something in Tribe to Katara and Sokka. Sokka remains seated, a slightly fearful expression on his face while Katara comes to retrieve Zuko. Even before she reaches him, he can feel the icy anger radiating off of her, and her face is dark. But after tying his hands together behind his back and turning to face her father and brother, she’s smoothed her expression into something more placid.

As they leave, Katara throws one more sharp glance over her shoulder. Before the door closes, Zuko can see Hakoda placing his hand on Sokka’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly. Zuko can’t see Hakoda’s face, but he sees him pull Sokka into a warm hug, Sokka’s face smiling and tender. Katara slams the door and pulls Zuko hurriedly along into the hallway.

She doesn’t even bother to blindfold him. Her expression is dark and murderous, and she’s radiating cold so strongly that Zuko’s shivering within minutes, teeth chattering. So cold, he can't even feel his inner flame. _What a monster this girl is,_ he thinks, both parts awed and envious at her power. Eventually, he has to stop, forcing Katara to look at him. “S-stop,” he chatters. “Y-you’re g-g-going to m-make me s-sick.”

She gives a weird look before blushing. “Oh!” she gasps, tone sincerely apologetic, as if she doesn’t hate him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice –“ her hand is no longer icy on his arm, and she peers to check out his elbow where’d she had been gripping. “I hope I didn’t give you frostbite,” she frets, soft fingers probing. “Sokka would kill me – “

Shivers subsiding, Zuko wonders why she’s suddenly acting so concerned, and he pulls away from her hands stiffly. She freezes, hands outstretched, looking slightly wounded. Zuko’s bewildered now; how could he have –

“Fine,” she mutters. “Keep your stupid frostbit arm. See if I care. I mean, it’s not as if I’m the best healer here.” She grabs his arm and pulls him, muttering angrily. “Not as if I’m a master waterbender. Does anyone care? _No._ ” Her snarls turn into Tribe, and he can’t understand her anymore, but he thinks that when she abruptly stops, there’re tears in her eyes and her voice is breaking. Suddenly, he feels extremely awkward. Angry Katara and disdainful Katara are so much better and easier to deal with than vulnerable Katara or fretful Katara.

They reach a room with a heavy door, and she unlocks it and pushes him in there. Zuko stumbles in, Katara stalking in after him. Her hands roughly untie him, and he rubs his wrists. His arm is still numb from where she had been holding him, but his inner fire had warmed him up a bit. Surveying the room, he sees that it’s a plain one with a bed, a desk, a door leading to a bathroom, and a bookshelf. When he turns around, he’s surprised to still see Katara in the room with him, staring at nothing. She’s closed the door and is crouching in the corner, arms crossed around her knees.

“Uh,” Zuko starts. “Can… Can I help you?”

Katara doesn’t look at him. But she laughs. She laughs so hard that tears come to her eyes. Then she begins rocking, and Zuko knows she’s not laughing anymore. She's sobbing, deep, ugly sobs that screw her face up into a grotesque mask of pain and sorrow. Awkwardly, Zuko stands there, watching her. _What am I supposed to do?_ He thinks wildly. He knows that logically, when people cry, they want someone to hug them – right? But if he even so much as touches her, Zuko’s pretty sure she’ll freeze him to the wall again. To be honest, he’s not very good at the whole comforting thing. Besides his mother and uncle, his family was never very good at it, actually. He sits in the chair furthest away from her and waits, tapping his fingers nervously.

When her sobs subside, she remains squatting in the corner, wet face staring at the floor and scarily calm. She stands up abruptly, and wipes all tears and snot away before she finally glares at him, as if challenging him to laugh at her. But Zuko isn’t monster enough to laugh at people’s pain. He may be a failure and dishonored, but he’s still human.

“Do… Do you want to. Uhm. Talk about it?” he asks stupidly. What else is he supposed to say? She stares at him, tear tracks drying. Then she smiles bitterly.

“What is there to talk about?” she mutters. “My brother is everyone’s favorite. Father trusts him, the whole tribe trusts him. He’s so… _free._ ” She looks so desolate that Zuko has to look away.

“I’m just as good as he is,” Katara continues, and Zuko almost tells her to stop. _I don’t need to know you any better than I do,_ he wants to tell her. _Do not make me understand you._ “I’m the best waterbender warrior in the tribe – no, the planet!” she stalks angrily back and forth, and Zuko tries to ignore her, but familiar feelings rush forward. _Why is Azula better?_ He thinks. _Why does father love her more?_ “And I can heal! The tribe _needs_ me, and they know it.” _Father needs me… I’m the crowned prince._ “But…” _But why then, does he look at me so coldly?_

“But why do they look at me with such scorn?” her voice is small. It sounds so similar to Zuko’s own inner voice that he’s overwhelmed with feelings of confusion and sympathy. She looks so tiny and alone, holding herself in front of the door, voice broken. He remembers the looks everyone gave her as they marched him into the prison, especially that one guard at the door. He remembers how Sokka was seated to Hakoda’s right, the seat of honor, yet Katara was standing behind him. Both of them were Hakoda’s children, and both of them just as strong and useful to Hakoda as the other one.

Yet Katara was left out, for some reason. Zuko cannot fathom why. She portrayed all the strength of Azula when he tried to escape, has the same fighting prowess as his sister – _she_ should be the favorite. Katara should be the one who inspires her tribe and demands her father’s respect and love, like Azula. Yet here she was, estranged from her community’s affections and respect. Like Zuko.

He swallows hard. This is too much for him. Before he knows it, urgent words begin slipping out from his mouth. “They _do_ need you,” he says, and she startles, staring at him. “They just don’t know it yet.”

For a moment, all he can see are blue eyes. They swamp his universe, their need and hurt and longing mirroring his inner-most heart… And then she turns away, and the moment is over.

She coughs uncomfortably. “This never happened,” she tells him. And then she’s gone.

Zuko watches the door long after she’s gone before flopping down on his bed. When he closes his eyes, he hears his words in his head. _They do need you. They just don’t know it yet._

Who was he talking to? Katara, or himself?

* * *

 

For the next day, there’s a guard posted outside his door, relieved every several hours. It’s never Katara. Zuko knows it’s foolish, but he can’t stop thinking about her, or her confession. He can’t help but sympathize with her. In some stupid way, he feels like maybe if he can help her, then there’s a chance for him to one day be back in his father's graces.

But Zuko stops himself. _If I find the Avatar,_ he tells himself firmly. _Then my father will love me. I will have my honor and my throne back. She has nothing to do with this._

But Katara’s tear-stained face wanders back into his mind, and he begins worrying anew.

Eventually, his boredom is ended when someone knocks on his door. Surprised by the manners, Zuko automatically calls out, “Enter,” much like he would aboard his own ship. In come two servants and an entourage of waterbender warriors. He doesn’t recognize Katara and Sokka at first, because everyone has painted their faces in blue, black, and white. Sokka’s and Katara both resemble a wolf, while the other guards look like Polar bear-dogs, penguin-seals, and arctic fox-leopards. The effect is chilling and intimidating, and almost otherworldly as several sets of piercing blue eyes observe him as the servants approach him. The Tribe servants begin to undress him, and he flinches.

“Hey – “ he begins, but he is harshly shushed. The warriors continue to stare at him as his clothes are slid off and he’s standing almost naked before them, left only in his underclothes. Zuko is particularly aware of Katara’s stare, especially because she is the only female present. But he sees no shyness in her eyes, or even the same vulnerability from the day before. All he sees is the unyielding iciness from when they first met. _This never happened._ She had said. Zuko narrows his eyes, a little hurt and a lot angry. So be it.

The servants begin to dress him in thick clothes died deep, rich blues – so blue as to be black. They’re trimmed in thick fur, soft against his skin, especially the pants they pull over his leggings. They drape a deep, blue parka around him, and by now his inner fire has warmed him so much among the layers that he’s sweating. On his forehead, they thumb a design on it with a blue paste. Then the servants stand up and back away. The warriors finally move, stepping forward to guide him out of the room and down the long, endless hallways. He’s not blind-folded this time, and can see Katara was right. The tunnels have changed, with the ice blocking different entries and exits.

Finally, he is lead to an open area. The warriors flank him to either side as he walks out into the bright sunlight. He needs to squint at the brightness, but when his vision adjusts, he sees that he’s in an arena. Icy walls surround the area, with thousands of blue clad people silently watching him. It’s eerie how quiet they all are. Then there’s a gentle hum as the crowd begins to whisper, louder and louder until they are all stomping their feet and chanting, swaying.

Sokka steps forward right as the song reaches a crescendo, and there’s a palpable taste of excitement in the air, like an electric charge. The song suddenly drops to a whisper, and all watch him in the moment. He holds out his gloveless hand, and with a bone knife he cuts into his palm. The droplets fall onto the ground, spattering the pure white snow crimson. The electric charge from earlier sharpens as Sokka begins to speak, as if some great being had turned its attention on them and is listening intently. Zuko can _feel_ some great, alien presence acknowledging Sokka’s words, and Zuko is terrified. He jumps when Katara comes up behind him and begins translating for him.  

“Zuko of a foreign nation,” Sokka begins. His voice is full and thick, filling the wide space in the arena. “You are come to us from sky, like a falling flame. We do not know you, yet we helped you. You besmirched our help and tried to escape, dishonoring yourself and staining our hospitality.” Sokka pauses here. The thick feeling, the pressure of that presence, is crushing Zuko now. He can feel anger and scorn and wariness, as if the feelings of every single person are somehow being channeled directly onto his shoulders. He stumbles a bit, but Katara’s firm hand reaches out to catch him. He glances at her, equal parts startled and grateful. She meets his gaze, blue eyes unreadable.

“Yet there remains honor in your heart. You did not kill, and answered questions as truthfully as possible. At this moment, you could prove to be a great friend. Or a great foe.” The pressure is strengthening, becoming so heavy… He’s being suffocated… He feels like he’s _drowning_.

Sokka begins yelling, the singing of the audience almost yelling their chants and the pressure so heavy Zuko can no longer see. And Katara’s smooth, cool translation continues quietly, somehow piercing through the cacophony of pain. “Tui and La, I ask for you to judge this man who is dishonored. I ask for you to help us discern his worth and his honor. Help us find the man he truly is.”

There’s a great wrenching sound, as if the earth itself were screaming. Then absolute silence. Katara lets go of Zuko quickly, and he finds he can breathe again. When his sight comes back, he almost wishes it hadn’t.

Sokka, Katara, and the other warriors have disappeared, running off to the sidelines. In front of Sokka had been, a huge, hulking beast stands. It’s shimmering and blue, with glowing white eyes and a kernel of darkness in the area that a heart would normally be, towering far over him. Zuko takes a step back. And then another one, because holy shit, he’s pretty sure that’s a _damn spirit._ The thing tracks him with its face as he moves, neck extending slightly. It gives an inhuman hiss, stretching even taller, as if standing up. It blinks very slowly, before delicately extending a thin tendril of an arm and slamming it down on the ground where Zuko had been standing moments before. When it recoils its tentacle and turns to look at him, Zuko swallows hard. The ground it had smashed is now crushed, thick cracks running through the ice. If he had been there, he would be dead.

Well. They want him to fight? He can do that.

The only problem, he thinks as another tendril comes down to crush him and he dodges to the left, is that he can’t use firebending. A non-bender is much less threatening, and he’s more likely to be let go if he passes this stupid trial without firebending. Damn these fire hating water rebels.

When a tendril catches him in the stomach and sends him flying, he kind of regrets the idea. He skids across the snow several feet, and he’s now grateful for the thick layers the attendants had dressed him in. The spirit stretches, more tendril-arms erupting from its body to reach for him. In an instant, Zuko is back on his feet and retreating, trying to escape from its arms. When he’s a good distance, he crouches, body tense and ready to flee while he thinks.

_Think logically, Zuko,_ he tells himself, watching the spirit undulate, its body stretching and shrinking, tentacles waving around itself. _It’s a spirit. How do you fight a spirit?_ The spirit watches him in return, its white eyes blinking. _How do you fight a spirit?_ With bending. _Can’t do that._ Well, non-benders must have fought spirits before. After all, this test was made for Water Tribe, and not every warrior from the Water Tribe is a bender. The ones who passed must have solved the problem through other ways than brute force – in a flash, the spirit is flying towards him, and Zuko doesn’t have enough time to move out of the way before it wallops him another time, wrapping itself around him so tightly he can’t breathe, pounding him into the snow like a mallet.

It’s hard to think clearly when a gelatinous spirit is slamming you into the ground, and Zuko does the only thing he can think of: he reaches out with his hands and put as much heat into them as he can without actually erupting into flames. To be honest, he’s so dazed that he doesn’t think he could actually combust if he tried, but his hands are hot enough that the creature shrieks its pain and throws him across the arena. After coming to a stop, the spirit writhing in the distance, Zuko remains on the ground for a few moments, watching the thing while he gains his breath back.

In that instant, he notices the spirit’s gaze, sees what its interest is. It’s looking at one of the warriors who had escorted him out, standing by the entrance. Zuko feels like he’s moving in slow motion, racing against time, as the spirit begins to move towards the bender, who is so startled they don’t move. _Is it Katara?_ Zuko wonders. _Or Sokka?_ He can’t tell. He doesn’t even bother to wonder at his concern for them, instead running as fast as his legs will allow him. He tackles the bender just before a tentacle tries to snatch the person, and it shrieks its frustration like several nails running down metal.

The two of them go skidding across the snow, and Zuko instantly stands between the person and the spirit. He glances to make sure they’re okay, and is relieved to see blue eyes a different shade then he was expecting. The bender looks back at him, eyes wide, muttering something in Tribe. Annoyed, Zuko mutters sarcastically, “I know exactly what you mean.” The bender shakes his head and scrambles up, running away. “You’re welcome!” he mutters after the retreating bender’s back. Well, there’s gratefulness for you, Zuko thinks wryly.

He crouches into a fighting stance, knees bent and loose, his hands poised in front of him and protecting his core. He watches the spirit carefully, and feels an almost suffocating sense of very familiar frustration. And of course, he can feel a buzzing in the back of his mind, as if that pressure from before is still watching him, judging him.

Zuko wants to scream. He’s not good at puzzles or games. That was always Azula’s forte. Zuko is the one who likes simple, straightforward problems. He tackles things head on with brute strength and sheer force of will, whether it’s practicing, games, or fighting. But he can’t exactly take on a _damn spirit_ by himself, for Agni’s sake. The spirit has finally stopped thrashing and is staring at him, a high keening sound coming from it. A split has appeared on its face, jagged like teeth, and it opens it to screech. It begins slithering towards him, rearing up as it approaches, all limbs poised above its head to come crashing down on him.

And in that instant, Zuko sees the solution.

The creature slams more of its tendrils down, each one pounding right where Zuko had been a few seconds before. He weaves between them, smooth and graceful. He sees his goal, and is determined to reach it, no matter what. He heats his hand up, until it’s as hot as he can possibly make it, before jumping up and plunging his hand into the spirit’s chest.

His arm goes deeper and deeper, until he’s shoulder deep. The inside of this spirit is cold, colder than Katara’s hands and eyes, colder than the blue of Azula’s fire, colder than the night when his mother left. It’s so cold that Zuko can feel the fire being drawn from him, excruciating. He’s yelling and so is the spirit, screaming practically, but he funnels more energy into his arm to keep himself warm. He just needs a few more seconds, just a few more centimeters. He takes a deep breath, inhaling more and more, trying to warm his insides up before he plunges his face into the chest of the spirit. His fingers close around the kernel that serves as its heart, and he pulls it out, gasping in sweet air.

The spirit doesn’t relinquish its heart lightly. All of its tentacles grasp at Zuko, and its keening reaches a level so intense that even the observers cover their ears. But Zuko merely growls, determined to defeat this thing. He squeezes the kernel harder, his hands hot and steaming, and the thing wails, its blows becoming weaker. It’s melting, he notices numbly, oozing out into a puddle around him. Finally, it stops moving, and Zuko is left alone in the middle of the arena, silently watched by hundreds of Water Tribe citizens.

And then Sokka is beside him, grabbing Zuko’s empty hand and thrusting it into the air. He chants Zuko’s name, and yells something in Tribe. Katara’s nowhere nearby to translate, but he can guess what is being said anyways. He doesn’t really care, because he’s too busy staring at the kernel he’d ripped out of the spirit.

It’s a round, smooth rock that fits easily in the palm of his hand. But it’s warm and pulsing, as if alive, like a piece of coal. He closes his fingers around it and squeezes, somehow comforted.

Sokka turns to Zuko. He looks slightly dazed. “You have passed the first trial,” Sokka says.

“The first?” Zuko sharply replies. “What do you mean, ‘the first?’ There’s more?”

“Yes.” Sokka nods slowly. “The exact amount is unknown, but the Trial has never had any less than 3 tests.”

Zuko wants to groan. Wasn’t fighting a gods damned _spirit_ with no bending not good enough for these people? “So when is my next test?” he asks.

“Whenever Tui and La decide,” is the cryptic answer. Zuko refrains from breathing flames and screaming. “It could have started without us knowing, which I hope it hasn’t because I’d much rather _not_ be squashed by a tentacle-y magick-y monster thingy.” The last part is whispered loudly, and Sokka looks decidedly queasy, as if the very idea is nerve-wracking.

Zuko almost responds with, _me too, but look what happened,_ but he decides maybe it’s best to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he says, “Don’t like spirits much?”

Sokka nods vigorously. “Not at _all._ Katara can keep her hokey-pokey magic stuff—“

“Bending?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, _magic stuff,_ and I’ll trust my beloved Boomerang 3000.” Sokka pats his curved gun lovingly. Zuko almost gags. “And that’s why you should keep _your_ hokey-pokey stuff to yourself, too.”

It’s said casually enough, but Zuko can tell there’s weight behind Sokka’s words. When he glances to the side, the dark boy is still patting his gun, but his blue eyes are keenly observing Zuko. Did Sokka see him bending during the match? Impossible. Zuko knew the boy was already suspicious, but he hadn’t said anything since that one barb on the ship until just now. Would Sokka rat him out? Zuko swallows.

“Right. I’ll make sure to avoid the spirits then,” Zuko responds, hoping he sounds like he’s joking. Sokka stands up straighter and laughs.

“Good one.” Sokka snorts. “You say it like it’s so easy _uuuuraAAAAGH!”_ Whatever he’d been about to say, he interrupts it by screaming and pointing at Zuko’s foot, quickly hopping away. Zuko’s so startled by the sudden shriek that he can’t even manage to look annoyed. When he looks down, his stomach tightens in reflex. Wrapped around his ankle is a thick, purple, clawed paw. Its grip tightens, pulling down, and Zuko is jerked into the snow.

“Wraugh!” he says. Sokka makes a choking noise and begins muttering something that suspiciously sounds like _I’m just a guy with a boomerang I didn’t ask for all of this hokey-pokey magic stuff._

“Help?” Zuko asks, now up to his waist. Sokka shakes his head so hard Zuko wonders if he has whiplash.

“No way! Did you see that purple claw thing?” Sokka retreats a few more steps. “This isn’t _my_ trial!”

Zuko sighs as he gets dragged further into the ice. Strangely, it doesn’t hurt, and even stranger, Zuko isn’t very frightened. It rather feels like the time Azula pushed him into a spat of quicksand in the jungle near their vacation home when they were both younger. Mother had, of course, panicked and pulled him out and then thoroughly scolded a sulking Azula. “It was just a bit of fun,” she had said.

_This is not fun,_ Zuko thinks. Sokka watches him with wide eyes, then gives him a firm nod.

“I believe in you,” he whispers. “I… I believe that you’re honorable.”

Zuko goes under the snow, and everything is dark.

* * *

When he comes to, his head is pounding. The pain irritates him, but he’s dealt with worse. Much worse. Slowly, he sits up, trying not to make any sudden motion in case it’ll provoke more pain. He flits his eyes around this new place.

It’s a small cavern, with a tunnel on the opposite side of him winding off somewhere. There’s an almost magical quality to this place, though. It’s made entirely of ice and seems to hold light of its own, since Zuko sees no other sources. Everything is slightly blurry, as if it really isn’t real. Except, Zuko notes with some interest, himself. His gloved hands when he looks at them are clear and sharp looking, looking oddly out of place with their black fur in this environment of blues and whites.

When Zuko checks behind him to see if there is an exit, he finds none (as he expected). There’s not even a hole in the ceiling, he notes, where he could have possibly come through. Just the mysterious tunnel and him. The only way is forward.

The pain in his head has eased to an ignorable throb, so he stands up and stretches his arm a bit, testing to see if there were any injuries caused in his arrival. Only some bruises left from where Katara slammed him into the wall with her bending, nothing too bad. His breath plumes in front of him, even though the air doesn’t really feel cold. It curls into strange shapes and forms, and one even drifts off to curl on his shoulder. It looks slightly red. When he tries to swat it off, it purrs in his ear, its smokey appearance just reforming.

 “Alright then, stay.” Zuko mutters crossly. Its smell and happy purr are familiar… But Zuko can’t place them. And, he reasons as he starts down the tunnel to Spirits know where, he has more important things to worry about right now.

As he walks, he thinks about what the next trial could entail. Maybe… Maybe the Spirits want to see him walk for hours, to test his stamina? Or maybe the icy walls will close on him as he walks, and _squish._ No more Zuko. _Bring it on,_ Zuko thinks, palms growing hotter. _There’s no waterbenders here to see me firebend._ But his fire seems sluggish to his call, which frightens him a little. But that fear is quickly stifled, as Zuko reasons he can take care of himself, bending or no.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a shadow move in the ice. Zuko jumps, heart sputtering in his chest. An indistinct figure, blurred by the thick, icy walls, undulates past him. He hears a haunting, arrogant laugh, one that strikes a deep chord within him. He’s suddenly afraid. The smoke on his shoulder rears its head, like a snake – like a dragon, even – and hisses at the long, icy shadow in the walls. Without his noticing, it has grown to be as long as his forearm, and is much more solid looking, a deep, blood red.

The laughter dies down, but an eerie whisper starts up. Zuko can’t make out the words exactly, but he strains to hear them anyway. It feels like a whispered conversation he’d heard once, catching only the lilts of the words but not the meaning of them. It sets him on edge, and he _knows_ that whisper. He squares his shoulders and presses on, the dragon on his shoulder purring uneasily.

He walks a ways, the shadow in the walls pursuing him with its whispered laughter. The sound grows louder and louder, still indistinct, until he wants to scream. His red dragon, now the size of an enormous snake, is draped across his shoulders and curled on his arm. It has started to whisper in his ear as well, urgently, but he can’t understand it. He’s getting angrier and angrier, and, secretly, more frightened. He can feel the feelings unfurling in his chest like fire, pushing and sprouting upwards into his throat until –

Someone wails, a thin, pitiful shriek lingering in the air. It cuts through the whispering and grounds Zuko, blocking out the panic and urgency of the dragon and the sinuous shadow. It sounds... human. _I'm not alone..._ Zuko breaks into a sprint, looking for the source. The tunnel winds onward until it finally opens up in a cavern, a hole in the roof allowing one weak ray of sunshine to illuminate a small, shivering figure. Zuko stops, staring at them.

They’re wearing a blue parka, much like the Tribe. But they’re so small, almost like a child. What are they doing down here? Zuko wonders, hesitantly approaching. But what if this is a trick? What if this child is actually a spirit who’s hoping to drag him further down, to smother him in this awful ice? The laughing voice is back, louder than before. The dragon on his shoulder hisses, and something touches his leg. Zuko jumps back, jerking his leg away from a long, blue dragon with glittering amber eyes. The laughter is almost deafening, in harmony with the wailing of the child.

“Mommy,” the child wails. “Mommy…”

_Go help the girl, Zuko,_ a deep voice reverberates in Zuko’s skull. The dragon on Zuko’s shoulder slips off of him, rearing its head up and up until it’s the same size as the cavern. It bends its wise face down to be eye to eye with him. _Go help her. She needs you._

_Hah!_ The other dragon whips its head down, mane flowing gracefully. _Yes, go help the poor little girl, Zuzu. Go help the obvious trap._

_Do not listen to the blue dragon!_ The red dragon urges. It jerks its snout towards the whimpering girl. _You need to help her._

The blue dragon throws its head back and laughs coldly. _Zuzu, I know you’re smarter than this. You may have been stupid at one point, but didn’t father burn it out of you?_ Zuko winces at the memory, scar tingling and eyes on the crying girl. She’s lifted her tear-stained face, her blue, blue eyes wide with fear.

“Do you know where my mommy is?” she asks, her voice very small. Zuko swallows.

_She’s missing her mother,_ the red dragon remarks sorrowfully. _You understand, don’t you Zuko? Help her._

The blue dragon yawns. _Gaining sympathy through similar sob stories. How cliché and boring. Effective only on dimwits and dumbos._ It snakes lazily past him, glancing at him out of the corner of its scaley, amber eyes. _Are_ you _a dimwit or dumbo, Zuzu?_

“No!” Zuko snarls hotly, glaring at the little girl. She doesn’t seem to notice either of the dragons, only him, and looks at him imploringly. He swallows hard; she seems so real, so helpless.

_Of course she does. She’s a spirit, and she just wants to kill you._ The blue dragon snakes closer, steam hissing from its nostrils. It wraps itself around him, squeezing tightly. Its scales are cool and smooth, but a few nick him and blood wells up from the tiny cuts. _Kill her, Zuko! Kill her before she hurts you!_

“Can you help me?” the girl whimpers. “Help me find her?”

_Don’t listen to her! Just listen to me._ The blue dragon’s voice is deafening, its grip so tight on him he can’t breathe… _It’ll be so easy, just a quick flame will do it._ He can feel the heat spilling from his palms, can almost feel the ease with which he burns her; she’ll just drift away, like the last spirit he defeated. There will be no burning of flesh and agonizing screaming as her skin melts beneath his palms --

_Zuko…_ the red dragon murmurs quietly. The crushing tightness of the blue dragon pauses, its head whipping around to glare at the other dragon, lips parting to reveal vicious fangs. _Zuko. Are you really the type to turn your back on people who need help?_

Zuko hesitates. He remembers that dream with his mother and the laughter. _I’m so proud of you,_ she had said. _For helping them._ If there’s even the slightest chance that the little girl truly needs his help, even if she’s a spirit, then shouldn’t he offer it? Isn’t _that_ the honorable choice? Zuko’s decision is made, and with a long exhale, the blue dragon’s grip loosens.

“I’ll help you find your mother.” He mumbles, exhausted. The little girl blinks, smiles, and stands up. She rubs her eyes and wanders over to him. The blue dragon hisses menacingly, blue flames dripping from those azure lips, but the little girl laughs at it.

“I’m not afraid of you!” she giggles. “Your fire may be blue and may be hot, but my water is pure and strong.” She waves a hand dismissively, and the dragon shrieks, scales shredding apart and heavy chains of ice reaching up from the ground to latch on to the naked, raw skin of the dragon. It's screaming and writhing all around Zuko, gouts of blue fire spurting out as it shrieks in rage, and he’s almost afraid of being crushed, but the little girl walks over and holds his hand, calmly watching. The chains of ice tighten and the dragon wails, its body dragged beneath the ground until it makes no more sounds.

The red dragon sighs, long and deep. It’s smaller now, about the size of the little girl. It slithers closer and nuzzles her. _I am glad,_ it says wearily, before drifting away in a cloud of smoke. The girl smiles and waves good-bye with her free hand, tugging hard when Zuko doesn’t join in on her parting gift. Zuko quickly dips his head and murmurs thanks. The Tribe girl watches the smoke dissipate for a few seconds before turning to him.

“Thank you,” she says warmly, grinning widely.

“Uh… Yeah. Sure,” Zuko mutters, rubbing the back of his head. “But, uhm, shouldn’t you be sad? Like, about your mom?”

The girl looks bewildered. Now that he thinks about it, she looks older, too; less toddler and more early teenager. “O-oh… I mean. I gave up a long time ago,” she says, casting her eyes down. “I… She’s dead.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…” her lips curl sadly, and she seems to be looking far away. “But that’s ok. I have you now!” She smiles sweetly, squeezing his hand in a death grip. Bells go off in Zuko’s head and he jerks back. What if the blue dragon had been right? He thinks for a moment, wildly. But at her sad expression, Zuko can’t help but give his hand back. “I-I guess,” he says hesitantly. She giggles at him and laces her fingers with his, making him flush. She tugs him forward.

“Where are we going?” he stumbles, trying to ignore the heat crawling up from her hand to his face.

“Somewhere better,” comes the cryptic response.

As they run, the tunnel gets narrower and darker. The girl seems to change each time he sees her, her face filling out more and more and her hips and breast swelling into a very familiar form. He blinks, and realizes the little girl is Katara.

A chill runs down his spine, dread filling him. He thinks about how he wanted to burn her beneath his hands, because she had the _possibility_ to hurt him, because she might have been a malicious spirit. Her mother had been burned and killed, he remembers Sokka telling him. _I almost became that murderer…_ Zuko thinks, horrified. He squeezes her hand, fiercely glad he hadn’t listened to the blue dragon.

Lights spills across the tunnel, and suddenly they’re back in the open tundra. Up above, hoops of shimmering greens and golds and reds and purples dance across the sky, and there is a heavenly singing. Katara sighs happily. “The spirits welcome you,” she whispers, rubbing her thumb across his gloved hand. The gesture is intimate and so unlike the Katara he knows, but it feels… Right.

“Why?” he asks.

She smiles at him, huddling closer. Her face is tilted up towards him, her front pressed against him. “Because you have a great destiny, Zuko.” He can count every single eyelash, the pores on her face, the cracks in her plush lips. They’re so close her hot breath fans across his lips, and he closes his eyes. He feels her hand stroke the side of his face, the side of his scar. His eyes flutter shut, closing her out. “Because the galaxy needs you.”

There’s a whisper of coolness against his burn, and he leans in, straining to press into the feathery touch – but she’s gone. When he opens his eyes, his hand is grasping empty air, silvery dust blowing away to join the rainbow of shimmering lights in the sky, the harmony of the voices reaching an eerily beautiful pitch. Everything reaches a crescendo, and somewhere in Zuko’s heart, there’s a peaceful feeling, a feeling of awe at the glory of these spirits, at the soft feeling of Katara’s hand.

He closes his eyes again, and for the first time in a long time, smiles.

There’s a great rending, cracking sound somewhere in front of him, and the ice beneath his feet heaves. Zuko grunts in a most undignified way as he’s thrown around, smile slipping into a surprised expression. The sounds of the voices raises in volume, discordant yet still beautiful. A blue light tears through the sky, beaming up and up into space. A great gust sweeps out from its center, blowing snow into his face. He holds a hand up to protect his eyes. After the gale of wind is gone, he hesitantly lowers his hand to peer at what caused the light to appear. It’s shimmering in the epicenter of the blue pillar of light, indistinct enough that Zuko crawls through the snow towards it. And when he reaches it, he can’t help but give a quick intake of breath.

In the pillar of light is a sarcophagus of ice, jutting out of the ground like some ancient monument from a forgotten era. But of course, Zuko knows better. He knows that this is a piece of priceless technology that hasn’t been made in years, because the art of making it has been lost, along with the craftsmen who made it. The only sign that it’s even a form of potent machinery is a glimmer of lights beneath the icy surface.

But even more surprising is that someone is in there. Zuko stares at the boy sleeping inside the ancient stasis machine, jaw hanging open in utter astonishment. The boy is young, obviously not Tribe with his pale skin and bald head, wearing outdated robes from hundreds of years ago. A blue arrow is tattooed on his scalp. There isn’t any indication that he’s breathing.

Zuko does the only thing he can think of. He falls over in the snow.


	6. The Boy in the Iceberg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko finds a kid in the iceberg, gets wet again, and deals with spirit stuff. Also, what the heck is the deal with girls.

Zuko lies in the snow for a few moments, mulling feverishly over what he just saw. It was… a boy, right? A boy in an ancient piece of advanced technology within the spirit world, erupting from the ice and jutting out like some monolithic structure from the home planet? After sitting up and reassessing that, yes, there is a boy, and yes, this is an Ice Sarcophagus invented by people of the past, Zuko sighs. Deeply, and with frustrated anger.

What can this all mean? Is this another test, or another trick? Is he supposed to help this boy, as he helped specter-Katara? Or is this just some random occurrence in this… Place? Casually he glances around, to make sure there are no cameras or spirits watching. How does the Tribe know how he’s doing? Do they just leave it to the spirits, chi and lo (or whatever their names are) to judge him?

Instead, he sees the lights shimmer and rearrange themselves, looping in a straight line, traveling to the horizon. Zuko swallows, hard, glancing between the boy and the shimmering rainbow line in the sky. The way they point is a very obvious attempt to guide him somewhere, beginning right above the two and shimmering away over the eerie, blurry landscape. _Alright,_ he thinks resignedly. _If that’s how they want it…_

Zuko turns back to the stasis machine, wondering how to open it. These things haven’t been made in hundreds of years. No one really knows how to use or make them anymore… Which means the boy inside is ancient. Zuko almost pities him. So much has changed within the last hundred years or so. What will he wake up to? To an imperial galaxy, colonized by the Fire Nation that has become a galactic empire? To greater strides in technology and quiet genocide? To different stars and spirits and sicknesses? Again, Zuko thinks sadly, he pities him.

His hands, while fretting, had heated up significantly without him noticing. Now he does, and he quickly removes them, sticking them in the snow, which responds by hissing steam. He stirs them in the ground, as if to cool them, thinking _and my fire was so slow to come before when I wanted to call it!_ After flexing his hands for a few seconds, he pauses, realizing how undignified he must look. When he turns back to the sarcophagus, he notices that it has melted beneath his touch. “Shit,” Zuko says. The surface of it cracks, and steam hisses out. Zuko scrambles back, panicking. Did he break it? Fantastic. He can almost hear Azula giggling, snidely whispering, _Leave it to Zuzu to destroy a priceless piece of technology!_

A hand flops out from inside the sarcophagus, pale and damp, fumbling to grab the edge through the cracks. Zuko flinches, hands heating up in surprise. Another one follows the first hand, and there’s a small groan from within the cloud of steam. Eventually, the person inside sits up, pushing through the lid.

“Whoa,” he mutters, rubbing his bald head, defined only by a blue tattoo of an arrow. His voice is clear and young. “Crazy night.” The boy blinks his eyes blearily a few times before seeing Zuko. He's so startled to hear this boy speaking Common (albeit with a very strange accent) that he can't even form a coherent response except to stare. “Oh, hey,” the boy says cheerfully. “Who are you?”

Zuko responds by soundlessly opening his mouth. The boy laughs. “Ok. Hi – “ he mimics Zuko’s unhinged jaw – “I’m Aang.” the boy giggles. “Sorry for scaring you, by the way. I was just taking a nap in this thing – where am I?”

Zuko manages to close his mouth, still bewildered. The boy waits patiently for him to gather his wits enough to respond, “Er, a planet in the outskirts of the outer spiral leg, Water Tribe domain, I think.” Because how crazy would it be to tell this boy, _er, I think I’m in the spirit world for some sort of weird test and I just randomly found you and I can bend, by the way, which I know is not supposed to happen, so er, hi?_

“Nice!” Aang chirps. “Ended up just where I wanted.”

Zuko asks, hesitantly. “How long have you been in that thing?”

“What, this?” Aang points at the sarcophagus. “I dunno. A couple months?”

“I see,” Zuko mutters. He doesn't, as it's not possible. Zuko feels uncomfortable; should he tell the boy that he's at least several hundred years off? Swallowing, Zuko stands up and Aang follows suit, bounding out of his sarcophagus, only to fall down once he's out.

“Oof,” Aang grins sheepishly. “I guess I'm still a little woozy from my nap...”

Zuko almost groans, but keeps his face passive. He's tired, and hungry, damn cold and as confused as he's ever been. But he still bends down and pulls Aang up, supporting his weight on his shoulder. Aang grins at him, thanking him cheerfully, but his eyes slide out of focus and he's gone. Well. This will be pleasant.    

Zuko starts following the lights in the sky, dragging Aang along with him. Wherever the spirits want him to go, it's going to be a long walk.

* * *

 

His walk turns into mindless trudging. At some point, Zuko hefts Aang onto his back as the boy has totally passed out. And he's heavy – so heavy. He hadn't been heavy at first, but the longer Zuko walks, the more difficult it becomes. Even though it's so cold outside on the tundra, with the night sky streaming above him, Zuko's now sweating beneath the multitude of layers they had clothed him before the Trial. _How long has it been since then?_ He wonders, hoisting Aang up higher. His back aches and his thighs are both numb and burning. But the pain is good, the pain is welcomed. Pain means he's alive, that he's fighting. He's a survivor, and he means to continue living no matter how difficult it may seem.

Besides, this is no where close to the most painful experience he's ever had. Not even close.

Eventually the lights lead him to an opening into the snow, like the mouth of a hole. They convulse in the sky, dancing in a circle around the yawning hole, flickering multitudes of color. Zuko gasps in air that has frozen the inside of his nose long ago, and breathes out steam, trying to keep his face warm. Then he steps into the hole.

And he's falling. Falling through the ocean, falling up. Aang starts to drift off of his back, but Zuko clings to him fiercely, determined to not let go. He can't breath, he's suffocating against the cool blue. He sees more of those lights that had been in the sky, but they shimmer in the water around him. He can almost see them forming into indistinct figures, with flickering eyes. Zuko clamps a hand over his nose and mouth as he yearns to take a breath. The figures drift out of the way for something bigger, something glowing. As it approaches, Zuko can see no end to the creature, only infinite darkness. Its eyes are slits, glowing cyan in the darkness of the ocean, the coldness of the ice. In those eyes, he sees Katara's hatred, and Sokka's determination, Hakoda's wisdom. It opens its maw, full of fangs upon fangs, and it also glows with the essence of the spirit world. Zuko closes his eyes, and understands that he did not pass the Trial. That this is the end.

Light pierces through the ocean, illuminating Zuko and Aang. The enormous spirit in front of Zuko looks up, closing its eyes in what appears to be bliss. Zuko feels it raise its giant paw, cusping Zuko and Aang and pushing them towards the surface. As they break through, gasping for air, he sees its head surface. It's flat, like the salamander-newts from home, with the two eyes peering at him from the top. It blinks slowly in acknowledgment before disappearing.

Zuko treads water wearily, his limbs weak. Aang is heavy in his arms, and Zuko despairs as he looks round him to see nothing but endless ocean. He would hate to survive spirits and dragons and visions only to be defeated by water. He almost laughs aloud; trial of water, they had said? Is this the _real_ trial then?

There's quiet laughter, and Zuko tenses up. It's musical and gentle, and seems to be coming from nowhere yet everywhere. He glances around wildly, then checks Aang, who seems to still be unconscious. When he hears the gentle padding of footsteps, Zuko turns around to see a tall figure of white light standing on the surface of the ocean.

Just great. _Another_ damnspirit.

_Greetings Zuko, child of Agni._ The pillar of light intones. _We have been awaiting your arrival._

“Uh,” Zuko awkwardly says. A _spirit_ has been waiting for him? “We?”

_La and myself._

La? What does that sound familiar? Zuko has the uncomfortable feeling that the enormous spirit from before might be La. Then, even more uncomfortably, he remembers who La is.

_Sokka addresses the Tribe awaiting Zuko's trial. Katara translating, her voice calm and smooth amidst the chaos of the crowd, the pressure of that alien force watching him, of the chaos inside himself. “Tui and La, I ask for you to judge this man who is dishonored,” she had whispered, her voice cool against his ears, breath fanning warm across his cheek as she stood behind him. “I ask for you to help us discern his worth and his honor. Help us find the man he truly is.”_

“You must be Tui, then,” Zuko mutters to himself. Fantastic. He's not just dealing with spirits then – he's dealing with the _gods_ of the Water Tribe.

The light laughs gently, and its form solidifies more, shrinking until it resembles a young Tribe woman. Her eyes are kind, her smile sad. She's beautiful, Zuko thinks, from her long, white hair to the flowing white robes draped vicariously on her body. Her eyes are the blue of a summer night when dawn is just approaching, comforting and cool. Zuko finds himself unafraid in the face of the powerful spirit, and instead feels... Safe.

_Indeed, that is a name mortals have called me,_ she responds. _I am Tui, the spirit of the moon,_ _though when this current form was still human I was called Yue._ She smiles kindly at him, holding her arms wide. Light seems to shine from her, illuminating the ocean around them with her soft glow. _You may call me so if you're discomforted by dealing with spirits._

Yue? Another familiar name, though he hadn't heard the name from the Tribe siblings. He squints, trying to remember, but Yue has started walking around him, footsteps light on the surface of the water, sending gentle ripples out.

“So is this the real trial?” Zuko asks warily. “Is this where you deem me worthy?”

_I suppose,_ she responds. _In normal circumstances, of course._ She halts her encircling to stand right before him, hands tucked into her sleeves. _But these are not normal circumstances, child of Agni._

“You're telling me,” Zuko mutters, looking down at Aang.

_Our trial is reserved for our children,_ Yue begins. _For the children of Water and Moon._ She looks up at the night sky, at the stars spinning around and the lights dancing; at the moon hanging low and ripe over the horizon; and finally, at the endless ocean surrounding them. _But there's a great fork in the road of fate approaching. The galaxy's future is hinged in this moment of time, on the choices children will make._ She sighs sadly, her grave eyes holding Zuko's gaze. _Zuko, you hold an important part of this future._

“ _Me?”_ Zuko sputters, in both disdain and incredulity. _Him?_ Important? _Azula's_ the important one. Uncle Iroh's important, his father is important. Agni's flame, even the savage Tribe siblings, being the children of the notorious rebel Hakoda, are more important in the scheme of the universe than Zuko is. Zuko is just... Zuko, a dishonored, exiled prince of the Empire. Without his honor, Zuko knows he is nothing, that he is worthless. The spirits are just trying to mess with him – this is simply another stupid trial. He glares angrily at Yue.

_Yes, Zuko._ Yue’s eyes are infinitely morose, the depths of their blue so terribly sad. _You are pivotal. Will the galaxy end in chaos and destruction, or prosper in harmony and peace?_ She begins to fade, her form flickering smaller. _I hope you will make a good decision to benefit life._

“Wait!” Zuko yells, trying to swim after her, but she fading to quickly and he's too tired. “Does this mean I passed?”

_I cannot return honor you do not believe you deserve,_ Yue responds, voice so far away he almost misses it. _Only you can restore it._ And then she's gone, and Zuko is alone.

Zuko's suddenly afraid, wallowing in this path before him that he doesn't even begin to understand. The galaxy's _fate?_ Who cares, Zuko thinks angrily, punching the water. _All I want is to go home,_ he thinks. _The galaxy doesn't even need my help. It needs the Fire Empire's help..._

Well, if he wants to get home, first he needs to get out of the damn ocean. He looks around helplessly, wondering how he would get back on land when he's stranded with a sleeping boy. Just as the thought enters his mind, the cold water around him begins glowing a bright blue. The water solidifies slightly, as if a giant hand were grasping him, and holds him on top of the surface. All of a sudden, Zuko finds himself moving very, very fast in the water, propelled to who knows where.

* * *

 

After a long time of this... Weird stuff, Zuko sees land. He squints against the rising sun, wondering if it's – It is! It's the village where he had started off at. How did he end up so far away? He wonders vaguely, though the answer can of course boil down to “weird spirit crap.” As the giant hand of water approaches, he hears an alarm go off. By the time the water deposits him and Aang on the shore, a crowd is already gathered, with Sokka and Hakoda at the head. They both look slightly dazed, staring first at Zuko, Aang, and then behind them at the dark column of water spinning at the edge of the ice.

A deep, bubbling voice sweeps out, almost painful to hear in their minds. It roars like the tsunamis that plague the capital’s coast during fall, roars like the crash of a nebula storm in the Lightning Belt near the Earth Kingdoms, bubbles like a drowning man’s last breath. _He is worthy._ Then the pillar of water collapses, and Zuko is left with Aang sleeping in his arms. Sokka is the first beside him, shouldering Zuko up. “Dude, who's the kid?” he asks, while Hakoda addresses the crowd of silent Tribe people.

“Says his name is Aang. I found him in the ice...” Zuko stumbles, and Sokka makes a sound of discontent, holding him up firmly. “He's... Agni, Sokka, he's been there for at least several hundred years.”

Sokka's quiet, his face unusually somber. “Rough,” is all he mutters. Zuko stumbles again, and he curses his own tiredness silently. He can get through this – all he needs is to find a bed and sleep, and then he'll be good. His foot betrays him by tripping him. Sokka yelps, but before Zuko can fall the entire way, another hand catches his other side, relieving him of Aang and supporting him.

Zuko looks over blearily, and sees a pair of concerned blue eyes. He swallows quickly, looking at the ice. He hadn't really thought about meeting her again, especially after that weird test the spirits gave him, but now that she's here, all he can think about is her touching his scar and how good it felt. And it's weird. Too weird.

“Zuko, who is this?” she whispers.

“Some kid he found on a trial,” Sokka whispers back, answering for him. “Zuko says that he's out of his time, stuck in the ice for generations.” Zuko musters up enough courage to look at her, and sees she's not even looking at him, but rather at the bald kid in her arm.

“How awful,” she murmurs sadly, squeezing him tightly. Her hand on Zuko's shoulder is firm, and where she's touching him, heat radiates to his face. When she finally looks at him, he almost jumps. But she doesn't say anything, just gives him a strange look.

“W-what?” he asks defensively.

“...Nothing,” she murmurs, and unreadable expression on her face. Zuko's uncomfortable with her intent stare, his cheeks flushing slightly as she doesn't look away.

“Don't look at me,” he snaps. Her eyes narrow, and Zuko wonders briefly if he may have offended her, but his words do the trick and she turns her gaze elsewhere. He's relieved and slightly worried. His eyes linger on her face, taking in the high cheekbones, the dark complexion, her curly, thick brown hair that's mussed up and escaping her severe braid. Her button nose, round cheeks, the slight dusting of freckles that are practically invisible against her skin, her eyelashes, the dark rings beneath her eyes that he wonders are from worrying about him... Zuko drinks them all in, remembering her gentle smile and the feeling of her hand laced with his as she dragged him along. A part of him is saddened that the warmth present in the specter-Katara will never be realized in this Katara, and another part can’t help but hope. Abruptly, Zuko realizes he's been oggling her, and he quickly yanks his face away to stare at what she's looking at: Hakoda.

Hakoda has finished addressing the crowd of people and is looking expectantly at Zuko, who's being nudged by Sokka. Zuko tries to stand, fails, and collapses on his knees. His face burns in shame; the Tribesmen must be thinking he is weak and pitiful, he thinks angrily. No one says anything, but Sokka gently helps Zuko up, supporting his weight and guiding him to stand beside Hakoda.

“You have passed these Trials of Water,” Hakoda says softly, his face betraying no emotion besides respect. “By our laws, you are no longer our... Guest.” Zuko almost laughs as Hakoda muddles around for the word. _Guest_ is a nice word, though Katara had said there was no Common translation for what they called him in their language. “By our laws, you are once again a warrior of the Tribe, vouched for by La himself.”

At his words, Zuko feels a hysterical giggle try to claw its way out of his throat. He? A warrior of the _Tribe?_ As in, a member of the Water Tribe? Zuko could scream at the absurdness of it all, but Hakoda has already grabbed his free hand and raises it, punching the air and calling something out in Tribe. The people call back, clapping, cheering, shouting, almost as if congratulating him...

Zuko watches the crowd, cheeks warming up. If only, he thinks desperately, they were the people he wanted. If only they were clothed in light, flowing clothing of golds and reds with jet black hair, pale skin, and golden eyes. If only...

As if the excitement is too much for Zuko, he feels blackness crashing down on him, swamping his vision. The last thing he sees before he totters over is Sokka and Katara watching him, concern on their faces.

* * *

“...still can't believe...”

“...good guy, I believe he can be...”

“...who is the kid...”

Zuko hears broken fragments of the conversation around him, as he comes in and out of sleep. He's so tired, more tired than he's ever been. A time that he can remember when his body had been so exhausted was just after his father had burned him, while Zuko had been healing.

“Shh!” a voice swims back into his thoughts. It sounds irritatingly familiar. “He's waking...”

Zuko can feel several presences gathering around him, feel the pressure of their gazes on him. He tries to open his eyes, but his lids are so heavy... With on last mighty heave, he manages to open them a slit.

The light that greets him is too bright, and he blinks wearily to help alleviate the burn. The shadows in front of him swim into focus, and he sees Katara and Sokka staring down at him with worry. He swallows, trying to moisten his mouth, but his tongue and throat are dry. “Water,” he rasps.

Katara is instantly beside him, helping him sit up. Her hands are gentle, more than they have been before. He's grateful, but wary. Sokka comes over with a water bottle and hands it to him. Zuko drinks, swallowing water faster than he should. Katara makes a noise of chastisement in the back of her throat, and Zuko slows down. When he's drunk enough, Katara takes the glass away and sets it down while he wipes his mouth and looks at the siblings.

“So I passed?” he asks. Katara's hands on his shoulders squeeze him and Sokka laughs.

“I'll say!” Sokka hoots. “You were gone for about 2 weeks, and then _sploosh!_ You came out of the water, carried by La himself!” Katara shakes her head in awe, something like a smile ghosting her lips as she listens to Sokka's explanation. _2 weeks?_ Zuko thinks incredulously. It had only felt like a few hours. “The people _love_ you. You're like a hero!”

“A...” Zuko hesitates, wondering if he heard Sokka correctly. “Hero?”

“The Trial of Water is a rare enough event among our people,” Sokka explains. “For a _foreigner_ from the _inner planets_ to pass it...” Sokka shakes his head, bewilderment on his face. “It's not only unheard of – it's never even been conceived or thought about!”

“If you had told me that something like this would happen a month ago,” Katara joins in, her voice in his ear making Zuko startle. He turns to look at her, meeting her blue eyes glimmering with amusement. “I would have laughed at you.”

“And then freeze you to a wall,” Sokka adds.

Zuko shrugs, trying to free himself from Katara's hands. He doesn't like the way they make him feel, all tingly and warm. Is she healing him? It didn't feel like that before, though. He stops wiggling away from her, instead relenting to feel the sparks running beneath his skin, and then shuddering as he struggles to ignore them. “I think we've already done that,” Zuko mutters wryly, in a gallant effort to distract himself.

Katara actually flushes, her dark cheeks darkening further, and Sokka sputters out a laugh. “That she has!”

“Well, you can't exactly blame me!” she retorts hotly, quickly covering her embarrassment with anger. She snatches her hands off his shoulders, much to his relief, and goes to stand by her brother, crossing her arms defensively. “You had just locked me in a cell – _your cell_!”

Zuko remembers. He feels bad, but it had been for a just cause. He had needed to escape – _Needs_ to escape. Now that he's passed the test, he doesn't see why they shouldn't let him leave.

“So what now?” Zuko asks, a tad wary. The siblings glance at each other, expressions unsure.

“Well, I guess you're free,” Sokka eventually says. “To... I dunno. To go back to your ship, or...” Sokka hesitates, his face pinched with an unusual expression. Zuko raises an eyebrow; it's not like him to be so laconic. “Or, er, you could stay...” Sokka mutters, avoiding Zuko's gaze. “Here. In the tribe. With us.”

Zuko's shocked. He stares first at Sokka, who refuses to look at him, a faint blush darkening his cheeks, then at Katara, who's blue eyes meet his fearlessly, her face serious. There's a tumult of questions lodged in Zuko's throat, in his heart. It just doesn't make sense, he wants to tell them. I'm from the empire. I'm a _prince_ of the empire, albeit a banished one. I'm from the people who hurt you, who are trying to conquer you. I believe you _should_ be conquered.

Why? _You were all about keeping me locked up before, about having me tried and asking questions._ Zuko narrows his eyes. Because of this trial, those stupid tests? _Was that what it took to make you trust me? Was it that simple?_

He says nothing, and Sokka laughs. “Or not, whatever,” he throws his hands up. “We understand. You got your fancy ship and uncle to return to, with all that _tea.”_ Sokka sniffs. “Personally, I'm glad the stuff is basically gone. It's awful.”

Zuko swallows. There's a heavy feeling in his chest, and he doesn't know what it means. He doesn't like it. At all. “Don't tell my uncle that,” Zuko deadpans, in an attempt to lighten the feeling. “He might have an aneurysm. And die.” Sokka and Katara stare at him. Zuko helpfully adds, “Because of the, uh, aneurysm he had.” At their continued silence, Zuko tries some more, a tad desperate now. “Because you said tea is awful. And my uncle likes tea.”

There's an unsettled silence. Sokka grins, elbows Katara, and hoots, “Good thing we have Katara then!”

She rolls her eyes. “Like I'd heal him,” she mutters crossly. Sokka shakes his head, still grinning at Zuko. He gets up, and as he walks by Zuko's bed to exit the room, he whispers loudly, “Maybe for your next joke, try to leave off the heavy themes.”

“Sokka, you're not funny!” Katara yells after him as her brother exits. “Stop trying to give advice on comedy!” After he's gone, she huffs loudly, then sits back in her chair, arms crossed and expression stormy. Zuko wonders why she didn't leave with her brother. They sit in uneasy silence for several minutes.

“Does...” she breaks the quiet, her voice soft and hesitant. “Does anything hurt? From your trials?”

Zuko startles. She's watching him again, concern in her eyes, her posture tense and ready to get up and stand by him. He feels something in his chest soften, seeing her so worried. _About him._ Zuko shakes his head angrily. Again, with the stupid, incomprehensible feelings. He must be misreading her expression. She didn't give a snake-rat's ass about him before, so why start now?

“No,” he replies tersely. Of course he hurts. Zuko had been through who-knows-where and back. He looks away from her, his fists clenching the sheets. They're white, he notices, with little blue designs. He hears Katara get up, and he prays that she'll go away, but he hears her stop beside his bed, her hand gently finding its way to his shoulder. He tenses, wondering how angry she'd be if he shrugged it off again. He's uncomfortable, but with Sokka gone, for some reason, it doesn't feel bad... Unbidden, the feelings of the specter-Katara's hands comes back from the Trial, and he wants nothing more than to forget the confusion soaring in his chest.

“I can heal you, Zuko,” she says, very quietly. “But I can only do so if you let me.”

Zuko closes his eyes. It would be so easy to let her soothe him, to have her cool hands on his naked back and arms, the blue of her water filling the small space remaining between them. He can imagine it too well. But Zuko's strong – he doesn't _need_ help. To accept her help would be to accept his weakness, and Zuko is _not_ weak.

“I'm fine,” he says monotonously.

Katara sighs, squeezing his shoulder briefly before sitting down on the edge of his bed. The feeling of the mattress shifting beneath her weight makes Zuko tense up more, and he can feel the heat from her body radiating from where she sits so close. He dares to look at her face, sneaking a quick glance. She's not looking at him, but she does seem to be debating something. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she chews her bottom lip. Finally, she lets a gust of air go and turns to him. He quickly averts his gaze; he doesn't want her to know he'd been looking at her.

“Zuko..” she begins, her voice soft and unsure. “I... I'm sorry for how I treated you on the ship, and then when you were first brought here...” against his will, Zuko feels his eyes drawn to watch her as she... apologizes? _Is she actually saying these things?_ He thinks.

“You mean when you treated me like a prisoner?” Zuko asks bluntly. Katara winces, her face flushing, and he sees her visibly withdraw into herself by crossing her arms and frowning. But she doesn't look away, her expression determined.

“Yes...” she mutters sheepishly, then grins. “But you _did_ lock me in the prison, too. Though that doesn't mean how I treated you wasn't wrong.” She licks her lips nervously, and Zuko finds himself watching her tongue trace her lips: it's pink, dragging across the soft, round darkness of her mouth. Then he realizes that he shouldn't be – _how improper_ , he thinks. _Mother would be disappointed._ But Katara is already talking again, words tumbling out of her mouth. “I guess I saw you and thought 'you're a foreigner' and I was terrified you might expose my planet if you were let go...” she shudders, hands rubbing her arms. There's a tearing sound in Zuko's mind, and he's fiercely glad he hasn't had the chance to tell anyone from home yet. “And... There was a chance you could have been a firebender...”

She looks so frightened, so sad at this admittance. “I don't...” she takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. “I don't know if you know, but my mother was... Was killed. By a firebender.”

Zuko doesn't acknowledge her confession. Yes, he knows. And he doesn't know what to say. He wants her to stop talking, wants her to look at him again with those blue eyes and laugh again, wants her to go away so she'll stop confusing him. He doesn't want to hear her tell this story, one he already knows the ending to.

“I watched it happen,” she whispers, her eyes seeing nothing but the horror of her memory. Zuko notices that she's trembling, and he watches her very quietly, not moving. It's not his place to even think about comforting her. “I watched her... Spirits, her screams...” She shudders.

“The worst part was the smell,” her voice is so small. She seems so vulnerable – Zuko hates that. And he's all too well aware of the smell she's talking about. He has to hold his hand to keep from reaching for his scar. “She... _blistered_ before my eyes, from where she hid me...” Katara closes her eyes, as if bracing herself, before she grins ferally. Zuko pulls back, surprised. “She didn't give up my name though,” she whispers fiercely. “She was strong till the end.”

Zuko remains silent. All the guilt he had felt when Sokka had told him this on the ship, when he had remembered during his trial with the dragons, comes rushing back to him. Again, he stifles it. _It's not my fault!_ He thinks angrily. These feelings have no right to invade his mind like they do – Katara has no right to influence his emotions the way she does. Sokka had no right to tell him this story.

“So I hope you understand why I reacted the way I did,” Katara continues, peering back at him from beneath her eyelashes. “I... I was angry at you, and angry at the man who took my mother away from too soon, and I blamed you for something that you didn't do. I'm sorry.”

She stares expectantly at him, hands fidgeting in her lap, teeth worrying her lip. Zuko swallows nervously – what does she want from him? Does she want him to forgive her? If so, there's no need – he holds no grudge towards her, even after everything. Had their roles been reversed, and she the prisoner of his, he would have treated her much more cruelly. And he would have never allowed her to redeem herself, either – he would have just taken her to be imprisoned and interrogated.

_Even if she looked at you like she's looking at you now?_ A voice suspiciously like Azula's snakes into his head. _Wouldn't you have ravaged her first? Kept her on your ship for other purposes? And you would never apologize – you just expect it. War perks, or something, isn't that right, Zuzu?_

No! He thinks angrily.

_Maybe she wants it... Look at that face..._

Zuko can't help it – he does. She looks especially worried at his silence. He must be glaring, struggling to cover up his confusion at her apology and at the words in his mind. _Why?_ He thinks angrily. _I don't want this kindness – I shouldn't be forgiven by the enemy._

“What made you change your mind?” he asks, and he's unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice. Katara blinks, hesitating slightly before slipping her feet onto his bed and tucking them beneath her. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear as she thinks, and Zuko follows the movement with eyes. _Again, with the staring!_ Zuko chides himself. _Because of a stupid trial._

“Well,” she says finally. “I guess... I started thinking differently of you because of those stories.”

Stories? He feels his face twist up in utter confusion, unable to help himself. Until he remembers. Oh, _gods._ Between the excitement of her smashing him into the wall, passing out, waking up and her healing him and the surprise of hearing her speak Common, the night before the trials started, and the actual trials themselves, he had completely forgotten those two weeks on the ship where he had talked endlessly to her, telling her stories. It had been a way to keep his mind off of his nerves, to think about his mother, to pass the time. At the time, he hadn't thought she'd understand.

Zuko pulls his blanket up to cover his chest, his face flushing. “Y-you lied to me!” he said hotly. “I thought you didn't speak Common!”

Katara giggles, hand covering her mouth. Her eyes crinkle gently at the corners, her full lips stretching wide to grin at him in amusement. Zuko's so surprised by the openness of her laughter, the pure girlishness of the sound, that his jaw goes slack – it's the first time he's seen her laugh.

“Admittedly, I thought you were weird at first,” she smiles, her eyes the softest and most gentle blue. He feels his breath catch just a little. _Have her eyes always been so warm?_ He wonders, swallowing thickly. “What stranger just starts telling his guard stories?”

“I only did it because you started talking to me first!” Zuko protests, hands clutching his blanket fiercely. “I didn't know what you were saying!” her face falls, clouding over with guilt, and Zuko can guess what she had been telling him. Probably angry words, hateful words, blaming him for everything.

“I'm sorry,” she mutters again, looking away from him. He sees her hand go to fidget with her necklace, the other one holding her elbow. She looks sad and guilty and vulnerable.

“Stop apologizing,” Zuko growls, and she flinches. He glares at her, exasperated, but feels the furrows in his brow ease a bit when she smiles hesitantly.

“See?” she smiles. “You try to act big and scary, but you really have a heart of gold.”

“I – _what?”_ Zuko splutters, face heating up. Him? He's heard _brat_ and _spoiled prince_ on his ship before, and one time Zuko thinks he caught Sokka calling him _jerk_. Azula had called him all sorts of things, but 'heart of gold?' Zuko doesn't think he is particularly good-hearted – he's loyal and determined, and he knows his temper can get the better of him – but gold-hearted? At his flushed expression, Katara laughs again, and his face heats up more as he gets angry. Is she laughing at _him?_

“Yeah,” she tells him, softly smiling. “I guess you don't realize. Spirits, it took me long enough to figure it out!” She smirks at his confusion. “Zuko, you were – _are –_ so puzzling. One moment, you're lying to Sokka and I, terribly by the way, and the next you're telling me these adorable folk tales for children. So I start to think, 'hey, maybe this guy isn't so bad,' but you bust out of your cell and lock me in there!” She glares fiercely at him, but there's none of the chilling hatred from when they first met, only mirth and some irritation. “So we take you here, we put you on trial, because for some reason Sokka's taken a liking to you. Surprisingly, you're respectful to my father, and you save one of our warriors from the spirit in one of your trials, and...” she trails off, looking away from him. Is she embarrassed? Zuko wonders. Because he certainly is. “And you didn't say anything that one time, the night before your first trial, when I...” she hesitates, glancing shyly at him from the corner of her eyes. Zuko feels his stomach lurch uncomfortably, and the bed seems to spinning.

“Thank you, by the way,” she murmurs. “For... not saying anything about... what happened.”

Zuko doesn't say anything at all. He stares at Katara, and he can feel his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His chest feels warm, and there's something hot pooling in his stomach, dripping from the inside of his chest like honey. He hasn't felt like this in a long time... He hasn't _been_ thanked in a long time. He ducks his head down, and realizes that he's... _happy._

Oh no. Oh no oh no. Zuko refuses to see these people as anything but barbarians – but here's one of those savages, thanking him with an expression that makes Zuko's head spin. And there's Sokka laughing with him and wishing him luck, believing in him. There's Hakoda, who treated him with the utmost respect. Even their spirit, Yue, was kind to him, if not somewhat cryptic. Zuko can't help but feel lied to about the Water Tribe, and he finds himself feeling sorrow at the idea of them being conquered.

Zuko grunts, laying down quickly. He hears Katara laugh breathily, and she pats his leg, the one that's near her beneath the blanket. He stiffens at her touch and she immediately lets go. As soon as she does, Zuko foolishly misses the pressure on his leg, just a twinge in his breast. He pulls the blankets up to his chin and closes his eyes, hoping she'll go away and stop touching him.

She doesn't. She sits there silently for several moments, and Zuko feels his skin prickling in tension. Is she looking at him? Is she thinking about him? Why is she still here? Maybe she'll laugh at him and leave, or tell him that her apology was a joke and that she still thinks Zuko's worthless, that she despises him and blames him for her mother's death. Even though Azula has done this to him many times in his youth, the idea of Katara snidely mocking him hurts. Instead, he feels her shift her weight so she's leaning on her other hand, and hears her sigh softly.

What. The. Fuck.

Zuko sits straight up. She jumps a little, but at his glare she snickers. “Am I being too loud?” she asks sweetly.

“Why are you still here?” Zuko asks tersely.

“Wow, no gratitude there,” she responds dryly. “I was actually going to bother you with my presence until you own up and tell me where it hurts. And then I was going to heal you and let you go to sleep.”

Oh. “I don't hurt – “

She cuts him off smoothly: “And I'm not a waterbender. Tell me, fussy-pants, or I'll have to...” she grins evilly, wiggling her fingers at him, and Zuko is suddenly afraid. “ _Intimately_ evaluate you.”

Zuko feels the blood drain from his face before it all rushes back. Once again, all Zuko can think about is her touching his bare skin, and he's mortified by it – especially by the uncomfortable coiling in his lower abdomen at the thought of how _intimate_ she's willing to get. “Nnngh!” is all he growls before giving in.

“Alright, alright!” he snaps. “I give up. My... shoulders and back.”

Smugly, Katara crawls across his legs and maneuvers her way behind him. She shoves him forward a little bit and he grunts as she sits on the headboard. She orders him to take off his shirt and he doesn't dare disobey her, but he utters noises of protests.

“Stop being such a baby,” she chides him. When the coolness of her water touches him, he flinches, but soon relaxes into it. It really _does_ help ease the pain, he thinks grudgingly. He can almost feel the smug atmosphere rolling off of her.

“Anywhere else?” she asks, her voice right beside his ear. He shudders at the close proximity, but directs her to the pain in his neck. The silence stretching between them is somehow charged, and tense, and the fact that he can feel her legs spread so her knees are on either side of him isn't helping. Eventually, he feels compelled to break the silence, which is unusual for him, as he finds not talking easier most of the time.

Most of the time he doesn't hurt himself in spirit trials and land himself in the hands of a Water Tribe healer.

“So, ah, the boy I found...” Zuko says. He feels Katara straighten, her knees lightly knocking into his biceps. He inhales sharply.

“What about him?” Katara asks.

“How is he?”

Katara snorts. “He slept almost as long as you did, but now we can't get him to stop bouncing around.” Her hands hover over his shoulders, and he can almost hear the ringing of her water. A chill goes down his spine, and he tries very hard to think about the kid literally jumping around.

“Has he said anything?” Zuko asks.

“He hasn't told us much,” comes the reply. “But... I'm not looking forward to telling him where he is. I don't think... I think you're right, that he's been misplaced in time.” She sounds unsure and a little sorrowful, and Zuko almost turns around to peer into her face. But he doesn't.

They're silent for several minutes, and finally Katara's water makes its way back into her pouch. She doesn't move except to place her hands on Zuko's shoulders, resting them there. Contrary to the coolness of her water, her hands are warm, and he quickly feels himself heating up beneath her touch. Perhaps a little too much – he forces his breath to even out, struggling to keep his inner flame in control. He hopes desperately she doesn't notice, and irritably wonders when she'll let go.

“Zuko?” her voice is right in his ear, soft and hesitant. Zuko feels his entire body jerk, rigid. _Breathe in!_ He commands himself. He breathes out.

“What.” Ok, good. His tone is even, emotionless.

Her hands squeeze his shoulders, and he hears her take a deep breath, air fanning across his neck. “Are you... Going to go?” 

Zuko doesn't respond at first. He's surprised that she's asking, as well. She _had_ been the one who hated him the most on the ship. Zuko's original goal was to leave this place as soon as possible and regroup with his uncle, who must be frantic by now looking for Zuko. And that goal still burns foremost in his mind. But... But he thinks about Sokka, whose goofy grin is always ready, a serious personality lingering far below the surface. Hakoda, who Zuko knows is a notorious rebel, but who respectfully allowed Zuko to live and prove himself. And Katara, who hated him at first but healed his wounds on more than one occasion, who showed a weakness and vulnerability he's uncomfortably familiar with. Whose gentle hands (hot against his shoulders, rubbing small circles intimately against his skin. The heat travels through his chest) hide an iron strength, that can be hands of healing and hands of hurting.

“I _need_ to leave,” Zuko whispers. She needs to understand how important it is he leaves. He's not trying to abandon her, or Sokka. He needs to go home, something he expects she doesn't understand.

Katara laughs softly. “Yeah, to restore your honor, right?” She squeezes his shoulders one last time, then gives him a quick pat before sliding off the headboard and bed, slipping on her boots. “I'll go tell Sokka,” she mumbles, not looking at him. “We can start preparing for your departure.”

“Uh, yeah,” Zuko says. He watches her go, then slumps against the bed, staring at the ceiling. All the heat that had been building up, all the tension, immediately slips away. His body no longer hurts, but there's still an uncomfortable feeling lingering.

Well, he's going back to his ship. And while he's happy about that, something in his chest is squeezing unpleasantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! So this officially means you've caught up to where I'm still writing... And I'm a little bit of an impasse because where I am, I have a whole bunch of ideas how to write it but none of them really sit right with me. But I'll push through it!
> 
> ALSO: If any of you guys are confused about world-building (such as how the galaxy looks (approximately, mind you), where capitals/planets are, the different nebulas and stuff that I talk about, customs, the run-down of the current politics, spirits, etc) please tell me and I will try and write up a sort of rough summary of all the thoughts going through my head! I'll put it in a different work and probably make this a series or something. I might mention all these places and stuff, and they make sense to me, but idk if any of y'all are confused.
> 
> P.S. I know I forgot to mention this, but Zuko is kind of at second season Zuko, so a little less angsty but still p bitter.
> 
> Anyways, as always, thank you for the kudos and the lovely comments!


	7. Conversations

The days pass by slowly. Zuko's counting them until he can rejoin his crew and continue his hunt for the Avatar (more meaningless days full of frustration and anger. Who's going to soothe him with jokes and healing hands? With strange spirit attacks and even stranger smiles that pierce his carefully protected heart?). He's looking forward to seeing his uncle, and he's touched that his uncle misses him desperately, as he learned while making a call to the ship from the Tribe's communication center.

_His uncle had practically started sobbing when he saw Zuko's face. “Zuko!” he had blubbered, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Zuko, thank the s-spirits you're safe! I was s-so worried...” Zuko had coughed, embarrassed. He heard Sokka snickering behind him and Katara coughed, lips curled in a smile._

_“Uh, yeah,” Zuko muttered lamely, waving. He understands his uncle's relief at seeing him alive. He remembers uncle after the death of Lu Ten. “Hi, uncle.”_

_His uncle's eyes slipped past him, focusing on Sokka and Katara, who stood behind Zuko. Iroh's eyes widened, and Zuko gave the slightest nod._

_“Fortunately, I was picked up when I crashed,” Zuko explained. “By...” he hesitated, and he felt Sokka tense up beside him. “By merchants.” The siblings relaxed slightly at his lie._

_Iroh nodded. “I see,” he smiled. “When shall I expect you back?”_

_“Soon,” Sokka answered for Zuko. “We're preparing a spare ship now to take Zuko back to his – your – ship.”_

_“Oh?” Iroh raised an eyebrow. “You're willing to give up a ship for my nephew?”_

_Sokka shrugged. “What can I say?” he responded, slapping Zuko on the shoulder. “We take care of our own.” Zuko jumped at the words, then hesitantly, slowly, leaned into Sokka's touch. He couldn't help the stupid half smile that slipped across his face. In the video recording of them, Zuko saw Katara smile fondly at him, and he quickly clamped down on his own grin._

_He couldn't wait to go back, he told himself fiercely, glaring at the screen, at the smiling Katara and the grinning Sokka. He couldn't wait to get away._

He can't wait to return, he thinks again, looking out the window, out towards where his ship is being prepared. Can't wait to be away from people who make him question things he's never questioned before. He clenches his fists against the sill, his gut twisting as he stares at the people milling about below. He wonders if Sokka is down there, with a sarcastic quip at the ready or a friendly joke just waiting to be said, his grin warm and welcoming in his brown, open face. He'd be with Katara, Zuko thinks absentmindedly. She'd be smiling, too, hands on her broad hips as her lips curve into a smile that makes a small kernel of warmth bloom in his chest, fueling his inner fire. Her hands would cool his cheeks, concern furrowing her brow, much like they had during the trial, but it'd be real –

“What's cooking, mister?” a voice cheerfully pipes up from behind him. Zuko swings around, hands hot and ready, a flame ready to be shot – _oh._ It's just the kid he had found. “Oh, hey, a firebender!” the kid – was his name Aang? – chirps.

Shit. Zuko quickly hides his hands behind him, dousing the flame with a quick thought. _And he'd been doing so well, too,_ Zuko thinks. So far, only Sokka had an inkling, and Sokka's cleverer than he lets on. “Uh,” he says, surprised. “You, um, weren't supposed to see that.”

Aang raises an eyebrow. “Why not?” he asks, curious. “I think firebending is _super_ cool. I've always wanted to learn it!”

Zuko stares at the kid. _Ok..._ He thinks. _This is new…_ But of course, Zuko realizes, the kid's been locked up for so long, he probably doesn't know about the war, or the rebellions. In the era he's from, the firebenders still hadn't imperialized the galaxy, apparently. Zuko just shakes his head at Aang.

“Fire is dangerous,” he says. “No need for you to learn, even if you could.”

Aang laughs nervously. “Yeah, if I _could_ ,” he giggles, rubbing his neck.

“Er, it would be best not to mention this to the siblings,” Zuko tells him. Aang's eyes widen. “I... I don't really want them to know – “

“I don't really understand why you want me to keep this a secret!” Aang interrupts him, and Zuko wants to growl in annoyance. “But I'll keep it! A secret, I mean – because everyone has secrets they want to keep, and it'd be bad if those secrets got out!” the boy keeps rambling and Zuko struggles not to snarl at him. Zuko's beginning to suspect this kid has the bubbly type of personality that he is pretty much unable to handle, much like his sister's friend, Ty Lee. Zuko half expects for Aang to giggle and chirp, “Your aura is looking so _red_ today, Zuko! You _really_ need to find a nice, relaxing hobby!”

Zuko reigns in his irritation, and mumbles a laconic, “Thanks.”

Aang grins at him, settling down on the chair next to the window, staring out with Zuko. “It's beautiful here,” Aang whispers, his gray eyes traveling over the tall, white buildings; the cerulean blue canals, artfully crafted; the statues of ice glittering at every corner; the trellises of white that criss-cross from building to building, arching over the walk-ways. Zuko has to agree – it is beautiful. It's cold and exact and achingly beautiful, and there's something a bit fragile about the framework, as if a hot day could melt the beauty away.

“Yeah, it is,” he mutters back.

Aang is quiet for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed in a moment of unusual perplexity. “Zuko, if I asked something, would you tell me?” he asks.

Zuko narrows his eyes, glaring at the boy from the corner of one. “Depends.”

“I woke up when you found me,” Aang continues, ignoring Zuko's hostile tone. “I had been placed in the tomb for, er, reasons I can't remember,” the boy stumbles over his lie, and Zuko rolls his eyes but remains silent. He wonders if this is how Sokka felt when questioning him all those weeks ago on the ship. “And I was only supposed to be in there for a few weeks, transported to a safer place.” Aang trails off, his eyes still scanning the horizon, as if looking for something. Zuko can feel the question that he wants to ask, feels it heavy and pressing in the air. He's dreading answering the boy.

“How long was I in there?” Aang asks softly.

Zuko doesn't respond for a long time. “No one's sure,” he eventually says. “But those stasis sarcophagi haven't been made in a long, long time.”

“You mean my MOMO?” Aang asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He's finally looking directly at Zuko, and he wishes the bald kid would look away. Those innocent gray eyes are unnervingly piercing.

“Uh, sure, if that's what it's called – “

“It had a longer name, but I can't remember.” Aang helpfully supplies. Zuko swallows.

“Yeah, sure...” He trails off. “We don't even have the technology to make those... MOMOs, or whatever they're called, anymore.”

“You don't?” Aang interjects, eyebrows shooting up. “Why not? What happened?”

“The people who made those died out a long time ago,” Zuko explains. “And most of the, er, MOMOs have been lost or collected. It's rare to find one randomly on some strange planet.” _If that's where I even found him,_ Zuko thinks, remembering the tunnel and the ocean separating him from Aang. Again, Zuko suspects that he had been in the spirit world when he found Aang, no matter how crazy it sounds to him.

Aang's silent at Zuko's words. He shuts his eyes, exhales deeply, and slumps over the window sill. His shoulders are tense and trembling slightly, and Zuko finds himself understanding, just a bit. _Estranged from his home, his family, his loved ones,_ he thinks. _He's lost and alone._ Like me. Zuko quickly looks away from the younger boy, ignoring his vulnerability.

Aang finally sighs and sits back up, and Zuko's surprised to see his eyes are clear of tears, as he'd been expecting. A surprisingly mature expression settles across the younger boy's features, one of determination and acceptance. “Just because the galaxy as I know it is gone,” he says quietly. “Doesn't mean I can't get to know this new one.” His face splits into a gleeful grin, and he turns to Zuko with a bounce, exclaiming, “Imagine how much more sight-seeing there'll be! And I get to see it _all!”_

To say Zuko's surprised by Aang's bouncing joy would be an understatement. Zuko had been expecting tears, anger, and blame. Instead, he found hope, excitement, and wonder. Do optimistic people like Aang even exist? With a more concerned thought, he wonders, would optimistic people like Aang even survive in this galaxy?

Aang bounces around, chattering at the speed of light, and bounds out of the room, shouting something about finding Katara. Zuko watches him go, then turns back to look out of the window. Over by the docking station, he can see a ship being prepared and loaded. A ship that'll bring him to his own ship, to his uncle, to his awaiting destiny.

* * *

 

While he waits for his ship to be finished, the siblings had shown him around the village. When he first docked with them, he only saw the bare minimum, but after his tour, he understands that “village” is an understatement. The Water Tribe city is huge, miles of beautiful, icy buildings sprawling across the snowy ground. Fountains litter the squares, and children run around the intricate archways. Sometimes, Sokka takes Zuko into the different stores, eagerly showing off wares. Katara rolls her eyes and mutters, “He loves shopping. Indulge him.”

When he’s not with the siblings, he’s in the library. A few days after his conversation with Aang, Katara had shown him this place.

“You look bored. Is our hospitality not good enough for you?” she had teased him. He had shrugged, laughing a little. Katara’s face turned thoughtful, and she had grabbed his hand gently and pulled him along with her down the long hallways until she arrived to a set of tall, white wooden doors, polished till they were glistening. On one door, a moon was carved, illuminating a small village and people worshipping a figure descending from the sky. On the other door, a creature in water looked up lovingly towards the moon, all sorts of sealife dotting the water around it. Zuko knew that it was Tui and La, and Katara traced the carvings with her fingers.

“This door has been here for centuries,” she whispered, and Zuko felt humbled when she allowed him inside.

The library is a thing of beauty, Zuko thinks, as he peruses through the aisles. He could spend years here, reading everything, and still never be finished. _Mother would love it,_ he thinks sadly.

He hears the tiny pattering of feet, and Zuko looks up quickly, opening his mouth the say something to her – but only sees Aang.

“Oh,” Zuko says, a little surprised. “It’s you.”

Aang smiles. “It’s me.” He slides up to the bookshelf Zuko is currently looking at. “Why so disappointed?”

“I’m not -- !” Zuko says, face flushing a little at his lie. He grits his teeth, then furiously distracts himself with the book of poetry he’s holding. It’s very old, and in Nation, which Zuko is extremely surprised to see in this library. As he’s flipping through, he can only get one out of every several lines, and the grammar is very foreign and difficult to understand. But the artwork is beautiful, and very obviously not ancient Fire Nation, but rather Water Tribe.

 _How interesting,_ Zuko thinks, now enraptured with the book. Aang is bouncing around, looking through the stacks of the older scrolls, books, and parchments. He mutters something about it being dusty before sitting on the floor and pushing around a marble.

 _This must be from the days before the war,_ Zuko thinks, turning a page. He stares at the illustration, touched by the elegant beauty of it. A woman draped in blue silks reclines against cushions, a fan covering her face and a robe draped artfully and scantily across her, failing to cover her breasts, shoulders, and legs. A man, positioned lower down in the illustration, holds a brush and writes what Zuko presumes is the poem. Outside, the moon shines bright, a pond with dozens of lanterns floating on it peeping through the window. It’s very traditional Fire Nation art, but Zuko’s intrigued by the woman in the painting. Her dress and hair is in the style of the Fire Nation court ladies several hundred years ago, but the coloring is not. The blues of her robes are too cool, and the brown of her exposed skin too dark to be Nation. Zuko swallows thickly and understands that while the man writing the poem is Nation, the woman is Tribe.

The book of poems is called _Lover of the Moon,_ with the current poem he’s reading unnamed. His eyes travel the characters of the poem, so finely written and with much love and sensuality. As he reads silently, he reads in the soft, lilting tones his mother used when she read poetry to him when he was younger, lips mouthing each syllable carefully.

 

_My sleeves are wetter_

_that night when we failed to meet_

_than when of a moon_

_I have parted bamboo grass_

_traversing autumnal fields._

 

 As he finishes, Zuko stares at the dusky skin of the painted lady, her two eyes mere blue dots from a paintbrush, but her thick, curly hair and round, smiling face is eerily familiar, and Zuko can’t help but think of a certain someone draped in beautiful silk robes the color of the sea, reclining on a couch in the imperial capital and reading his favorite poetry to him. His eyes search for another poem, eagerly drinking in the words.

 

_When I fit my thoughts_

_to love,_

_even the moist-faced moon_

_sojourns at my sleeve._

 

He pauses, his fingers brushing softly across the painted woman. His chest feels very warm, and those eyes look so familiar, so similar. He is entranced, and he can’t help it when his mind wanders to that night before his trial, when he saw those tears rushing down her face, when she opened up her vulnerability for even just a moment, to a man she still despised. The lounging woman stares back at him, her painted eyes such a deep, mesmerizing blue… He swallows thickly.

Zuko snaps the book shut and shoves it back on the shelf. Dangerous material.

Suddenly, a great burst of dust flares up into Zuko’s face. He jumps backing, sneezing loudly. Little flames shoot out from his nose at the force of his sneezing, and Aang scoots back, laughing brazenly.

“Don’t set the books on fire!” Aang giggles, talking just a little too loudly for Zuko’s comfort.

“Maybe if these books weren’t so old, I wouldn’t need to,” Zuko growls – or tries to. His nose is still tingling and a little clogged, so it comes out as more of a whine.

Aang chuckles, wiping a tear of mirth away. “Sorry about that,” he snickers. “I guess my marbling just got a little too intense.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow, totally unsure of what this kid is talking about. Aang grins, throws the marble into the air, and then with a small woosh _suspends it between his hands_. It takes Zuko a few moments to process what he’s seeing here, because floating marbles aren’t necessarily common place outside of tech toys for children – but this is a plain marble, no hoverchip attached to it. Once he understands what he’s seeing, though, Zuko stumbles back, groping for a shelf because suddenly his knees feel very weak. His hand catches on an old scroll, on which multiple books are piled on top of it, and he suddenly finds himself being attacked by a landslide of dusty books.

After coughing out the dust, Zuko lies there in shock for several moments, replaying what he saw in his mind. Distantly, he can hear Aang trying to hold his laughter back and asking if he’s okay, but Zuko is too dazed to pay him any attention.

 _Airbending,_ he thinks. _Aang was airbending…_

The implications of this are overwhelming. The airbenders hadn’t been exterminated completely then, not if Aang is still around. And that would explain the Ice Sarcophagus that he had found Aang in – Zuko is almost sure that the airbenders had tinkered with those for fun with some ancient waterbender tribes. Does that mean there are other Airbenders around, lying in stasis within ancient sarcophagi buried in the ice in some foreign world? Zuko swallows.

Suddenly, Aang pulls a book off of his face, allowing the blue light to hit Zuko square in the eyes. He squints at the other boy, who laughs nervously. “You okay there, hotman?”

Zuko glares at the nickname – it sounds like awful slang from older holomovies – and sits up abruptly, books sliding off of him with a smaller mushroom cloud of dust. “I’m fine,” Zuko says monotonously. But he’s not. His mind is working hard, wondering at this possibility, staring at the anachronism in front of him, at the boy who should have been exterminated years ago.

Aang grins, offering him a hand. “Need some help?” he asks.

Zuko stares at the pale hand in front of him. He remembers that marble floating, a small part of him wondering if he had just been seeing something, if that marble had really been hovering or not.

He takes the Aang’s hand and stands up. Wordlessly, he begins picking up the fallen books, placing them on the shelf one-by-one. Aang joins him, surprisingly silent for once.

There is something very important going on that Zuko is missing, something bigger than Aang being an airbender. But before he can think on it further, he hears the pattering of feet and he straightens up.

Katara rounds the corner, braid swinging behind her. She raises an eyebrow at the mess they made, and Aang instantly looks guilty.

“I think the head librarian would have a heart attack if he saw this,” she remarks wryly. “Either that, or beat you with his tablet.”

Zuko glances at the pile of scrolls and books, and then shrugs. “He should be thanking us,” he mutters. “They needed to be dusted.”

Katara and Aang giggle, and Zuko feels just a bit of his mouth tugging at the corners. But he quickly stifles it away.

“I’ll help you clean up,” Katara offers, and she bends down to pick up some of the fallen books, delicately handling them. She’s wearing a light tunic today, with short sleeves and thin leggings. It’s belted at the waist tightly, accentuating the curved line from her rib cage to her hip, and Zuko remembers the way the Water Tribe woman in the painting had been lounging near her lover, her dark hips and breasts exposed. Zuko swallows hard, and moves to help her.

They make small talk in the meantime, mostly between Aang and Katara. Occasionally, Zuko will offer a small, one-word response when a question is directed at him, but he is content to hear them chatter. Eventually, they finish cleaning up. Katara dusts off her hands while Aang sneezes explosively, shooting away with the force of it. Katara blinks in surprise, but doesn’t mention it. Zuko watches Aang speed away and swallows. _Airbending…_ He watches the boy pick himself up and wave goodbye, mentioning that he’s going exploring. Katara laughs and shoos him away, but Zuko’s eyes track Aang. _I’m still missing something,_ he thinks.

“Well, now that that is out of the way, we can finally move on,” she says. Distracted, Zuko peers at her, his curiosity piquing.

“Move on to what, exactly?”

She grins widely, her hand on his arm. She squeezes his bicep playfully. “The _feast!”_

Feast? “Uh, pardon?”

She rolls her eyes. “Your good-bye feast? You’re leaving tomorrow, and we don’t want to send you off without at least saying farewell. That would be inhospitable of us!”

Zuko’s quiet. He hadn’t realized that his departure is so soon, and that the Tribe would even want to celebrate it. He’s touched, and a little bewildered.

“Oh,” he says. Katara tugs on his sleeve for him to follow her, and his feet start walking. Her hand remains on his arm, snaking around it so they walk arm-in-arm. He swallows, feeling the warmth of her body so close to him, her hands. When he first met her, her hands were so cold, so unforgiving. And now, there’s a sort of nurturing warmth that surrounds them.

He clears his throat. “When?”

“Tonight. That’s why I came and got you, so we could prepare.”

“Prepare?” Zuko checks his watch. “There’s still seven hours till sundown…”

Katara grins wickedly. “Water Tribe feasts are a sight to behold,” she tells him, tapping a finger on his forearm. She nudges him to turn a corner, and he acquiesces. “And they are a pain in the ass to prepare for – even for the guests.”

Zuko can’t hold back his small groan. She laughs openly at his reluctance. “It won’t be that bad!” she reassures him. “Sokka and I will help you get ready and teach you some of the etiquette so you don’t accidentally mar the honor of our chief of security, or something. That would be bad.” He laughs nervously with her, surprised by the fact that the Water Tribe actually has a chief of security. He thought there was only one chief in a tribe.

They arrive to his rooms, and she opens the door for him. He’s been living in this room for the past couple of weeks, and he’s always impressed by the stark beauty of it. It’s simple, and for the most part unadorned. The walls are a subtle blue dappled with white, while the wood making up his bed and table and chairs are all of pale white wood. Where they got the wood on this frozen planet, Zuko can’t even begin to guess, but he’s given up being surprised by how modern this Tribe is. 

Katara lets go of his arm and plops down in an armchair by the window. She crosses her leg and looks at him expectantly. Zuko fidgets under her gaze. _What does she want?_ He frets, crossing his arms and turning away from her. _I thought she was just going to drop me off while I prepared myself…_ He watches her warily, and she taps her fingers on the arm of the chair where she’s sitting, watching him in return. She looks as if she’s deciding something.

“Zuko,” she finally says, her voice hesitant. Zuko raises an eyebrow in return, relieved that she broke the silence. He was beginning to get nervous.

“What?” he asks, then regrets how sharp his tone sounds. Did he sounds irritated? He wasn’t really, just feeling a little squirmy. Did she notice – but she’s already moved on to what she has to say.

“When you leave, do you…” she stops, flushes a little and looks down, fidgets with her light blue tunic, then breathes deeply. “I guess what I am trying to ask is…” Zuko stares at her as she pauses again, unnerved by how awkward she is being. _Zuko_ is the awkward one, not Katara. Katara says whatever she’s thinking, only bothering to sugarcoat if it’s absolutely necessary. Her nervousness is making him even more nervous, and he abruptly stands up. She startles at his sudden movement, watching him as he awkwardly shuffles around the room.

“What are you doing?” she asks. He pauses his pacing, glancing at her over his shoulder.

“Uh,” he says. “My leg fell asleep.”

She snickers, but doesn’t continue with what she was saying earlier. Zuko leans against the wall, feeling claustrophobic. Was it always so strange between them whenever they were alone previously? He doesn’t think so. He’d been wary of her and suspicious of her movements, tense and ready for her to attack him. And after the trial, when she’d been healing him, he’d felt strange beneath her touch but had been too tired to even make anything of it. Since then, they’d only been alone in public spaces, and even then with other people nearby -- not the confines of his room.

He jiggles his leg, finger tapping in rhythm to his foot. Katara’s voice breaks the silence.

“Zuko,” she begins quickly, not looking at him. “When you leave – which I know you will, you’ve made that very clear, well…” the words tumble out of her mouth, and she plays with the sleeve of her tunic. “Well, I was wondering if your ship can afford any more passengers, because, uhm, I was, I guess –“

“Huh?” Zuko interrupts, unclear of what he’s hearing. _Can it accept any more passengers?_ He stares at her incredulously, and her face immediately flushes, eyes darting up to meet his before darting away. _Is she suggesting…?_

“Well, er, I was wondering if, uh, you needed anyone for, like, translation work?” she asked, finally lifting her head to look at him. Her cheeks are still dark, but her eyes are determined. Zuko blinks at her.

“You want to come with _me?”_ he asks, still not quite sure of what he’s hearing.

She laughs nervously, standing up. “Of course not, well, not really. I mean, that was just a joke, just to make you laugh, why would you need someone who could speak Tribe, you probably only deal with the Earth planets, even though I know a fair bit of Earthen dialects, though I guess most of them know Common, and, uh, I’ll just go.” She glides towards the door, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and not looking at him. Zuko’s eyes track her fingers, and without thinking he strides towards her, closing the distance between them and grabbing that hand. She jumps at his touch, freezing momentarily before turning her face towards him. Her body is still angled towards the door, halted mid-stride, but he can see the side of her face.

Her eyes are wide, and there’s a wide array of emotions churning in them – embarrassment, fear, wariness, curiosity. He can’t believe he once thought of Katara like ice, when she so vividly exudes warmth and life before him.

He swallows, and realizing that he’s still holding her hand, drops it like a hot coal.

“It’s not stupid,” Zuko mutters. “I was just surprised you were asking. Sorry.”

She turns so she’s fully facing him, her arms crossing across her chest protectively. She offers him a shy smile. “Oh, yeah, okay,” she says. “Sorry for just running, but I thought you’d get mad at me or something…” When Zuko doesn’t say anything in reply, she shifts her weight to her other foot, eyebrows furrowing just the tiniest bit in concern. Zuko feels his heart squeeze at her expression.

“Why would I be angry?” he asks. Okay. Before he came here, he could understand why someone might ask him that as his temper was always difficult to control. But since coming to this planet, his spurts of anger had been uncommon. Perhaps it was the cool weather, taming his inner fire.

“Well, uhm, I never thought that you, uh, liked me all that much,” she mutters sheepishly. Zuko feels his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.

The first words that want to rush out are _you’re the one that doesn’t like me all that much!_ But he quickly realizes that this was only true when they first met. Ever since the Trial has finished, she’s been nothing but kind and friendly towards him. He feels his expression settle down into a glare as he thinks about this. _She doesn’t hate me,_ he realizes, and warmth blossoms inside of him, his inner flame leaping upwards.

 _But she thinks I dislike her?_ He stares at her, almost want to laugh. How could anyone hate her, he wonders. She’s so caring and warm and, although fussy, means well. She has a temper and a competitive streak and she hides her innermost thoughts away from those closest to her, and she has the gentlest smile and her blue eyes shine with compassion and concern. Of course, he realizes, he can’t actually tell her any of this, because he’d look like a fool and she’d probably think he was, _ugh_ , in love with her, or something. As if he’d ever fall in love with a _waterbender_. Azula would die from laughter, after she slit said waterbender’s throat, just to spite him.

At his silence, she laughs half-heartedly. “Alright, alright, I got it,” she says, ducking her head. Too late, Zuko realizes she misinterpreted his quietness as an affirmation, and he quickly barks out, “Wait!” Katara’s body freezes at his tone, which is, he has to admit, a little angry sounding. Of course, now that he’s told her to wait, he has no idea what to say. Words aren’t his forte – that was mother’s skill, and Azula is the one who inherited her silver tongue. Not Zuko.

Zuko pinches his nose, eyes closed in frustration. Katara waits quietly, body still angled towards the door as, ready to escape. _How to explain this to her?_

“I don’t hate you,” Zuko says, lowering his hand from his face to look at her – except his brows are furrowed and he can feel his face screw up in an effort to say this. The words come out stiff and awkward, and Zuko could kick himself. Could he sound anymore fake? She won’t believe him, especially if he looks as angry as he imagines he does, and Zuko can imagine pretty well.

But when she offers him a small smile, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding wooshes out. “Really?” she asks, hesitantly. “Because… I always thought that I was bothering you…”

Zuko glares at her. “Why?”

“Well, you never like it when I touch you –“ _It makes me uncomfortable. I feel like there’re coals simmering beneath the skin where your fingers brush. I dislike that feeling, but I also like it. It’s confusing._  “ – You always avoid answering questions – “ _If you knew who I actually was, you’d hate me. More than hate me – I’d probably be executed. I don’t have time to die._ “ – And when you actually do answer a question, more often than not it’s a one-word reply.” _Well, uh, that’s just me. Sorry. I don’t ever really know what to say, especially since you’re so chatty now._

Zuko swallows. “Oh.”

Katara laughs a little. “Just like that.”

He shrugs uncomfortably, then clears his throat. “I, uh. I’m just. Awkward.”

Katara snickers. “I’ll say,” she giggles, poking him in the side. He flinches, just barely, but her widening smile of realization makes him instantly regret it. Before she can poke him again, he clears his throat.

“I, uh. I don’t do… Friendship.”

Katara’s hand, ready to tickle him, pauses in the air. Slowly, she lowers it and looks at him curiously. Zuko swallows, suddenly feeling very nervous for no apparent reason. Why did he say that? He just meant to distract her, meant to say something like, _when do we start preparing for the feast?_ But out came those words instead. _Great, Zuko. Just great. Now she’ll laugh at you._

But instead of laughing, she just frowns. She looks disturbed and a little angry.

“ _Why?”_ her voice is sharp, and Zuko feels his core tightening. This is even worse. What did he do to make her angry?

“I, uh.” He stops. He remembers a conversation he’d overheard between his father and Azula. It was immediately after Azula’s first semester at the Royal Academy, located in the eastern stretch of the inner core planets. It’s a one week journey on the Imperial transport ships, and Azula preferred to stay at school most of the time. However, she always came home on the holidays between terms.

_“Father, I’ve befriended Mai and Ty Lee, as you requested.”_

_“Excellent. Mai’s family will be more than happy to provide us with their wealth, and Ty Lee’s parents will be happy to vote in my favor.” There is a pause. “You’ve got them fully under your control?”_

_“Wrapped around my finger, father.” Azula’s girlish laugh makes the hair on Zuko’s neck rise. “And if they disobey me -- well, let us just say that they won't.”_

_Azula bows, her shadow flickering on the wall. Zuko swallows, daring to peer out a bit more. He sees his father placing a hand on her shoulder, and Zuko’s heart squeezes in sudden jealousy._

_“Azula,” their father says quietly. Azula looks up, her eyes shining, glowing in his affection. “Make sure not to fall prey to the weakness within your heart. Do not... befriend them. To do so would invite vulnerability, and it would be your downfall.”_

_Azula pauses, then nods her head. “Of course, father.” She responds, unusually soft. Their father withdraws his hand and he returns to his seat behind the archaic wall of flame, a symbol and testament of his power. Azula remains kneeling for a few moments, and Zuko watches her._

_Then he leaves, clutching his sleeves._

Ever since that conversation, Zuko had begun to wonder if the reason he is inferior to his sister is because of the so-called weakness within his heart. He missed his mother, and Azula never seemed to bitter about the loss of her. Whenever he made friends on the rare occasion, they were somehow always lost to him -- he remembers that girl named Jin, and a boy in his class whose name he could not even remember. The loneliness that beats beneath his breast is a betrayal to the strength he yearns for, and it’s a weakness he can never fully extinguish.

“Friendship is for the weak,” Zuko murmurs, almost forgetting that Katara is there. “For people who can’t fight alone, who can’t persevere.” He pauses, feels the tightness in his chest. “And I am _not_ weak. I... I _endure._ ” After that utterance, he finally recollects himself and where he is, the feeling of anxiety and a desire to prove himself that always accosts him whenever he thinks of Azula fades away. All at once, he can feel the blood drain from his face, and he glances at Katara, almost fearfully. By admitting that he’s afraid of being weak, to an inferior race no less, doesn’t that inherently make him lesser than Azula? Azula exudes confidence, and people do not question her strength.

But when he looks at Katara, he doesn’t see irritation or pity or hurt on her face. He sees gentle understanding, her blue eyes warm and compassionate. “Oh, Zuko,” she sighs softly, placing her dusky hand on his pale one, her touch light and kind. He swallows, hard, his hands clenching into a fist beneath her fingers. “Zuko, friendship, relationships… Those are what make us _stronger,_ not weaker.” Her fingers stroke his knuckles, so soft that he wouldn’t know she was touching him except for the fact that he watched her do it. “Because we have each other, we can fight, we can live, we can love and laugh and cry.” Her hand pauses, trembling slightly. “And we can survive.”

Zuko watches her shaking hand, and he knows she’s thinking of her mother. It makes Zuko think of his own mother, how she always tried to protect him no matter what, how she disappeared because of that. There’s something that wants to burst out of his chest –

He snatches his hand away from hers, so violently that Katara flinches back. Zuko can feel himself breathing heavily, and he turns to glare at her.

“These relationships,” he snarls. “They made me – make me – weaker.” He stands up, backing away from Katara, refusing to let her gentle hands and kind eyes pierce his heart further. “How can I fight when I am constantly looking out for these people? How can I assure my own safety when I am concerned for others?” he swallows hard, thinking of that one awful night when the coldness he feels till this day had set in, that dark, dark night when she left. “How can I live if I sacrifice myself for those I love?”

Silence stretches between them, Katara fiddling with her tunic’s hem and Zuko staring at her, his heartrate slowly returning to a normal pace. When her voice breaks the silence, Zuko almost jumps.

“I don’t have the answers to your questions, Zuko,” she says, so quietly that he has to strain to hear. “But I can tell you what _I_ know to be true.” Zuko stares at her helplessly, and her blue eyes drift to meet his, stern and gentle and understanding, all at the same time. “All these things, caring for others and allowing people into your heart… It’s one of the hardest things. But it makes us stronger, makes us able to do things we as humans could never do otherwise.” Her eyes seem to be looking somewhere else, somewhere entirely new. “We… When we have something important, our strength increases exponentially. We are willing to fight anyone, anything, to protect those we hold dear.” Katara furrows her brow, silent for a moment. “My mother did so. And I’m alive because of her.”

Again, with her mother. Zuko is uncomfortable every time she mentions her mother, and he wants to yell at her to stop it, stop talking about the Tribe woman who sacrificed herself for her young daughter, who so bravely gave up her life to protect people. Such a noble act shouldn’t belong to savages, and yet they are not savages. Zuko knows this.

He’s quiet for a little while, and then he sighs, loudly. “…I see your point,” he murmurs. “Perhaps you’re right.” His mind is too busy to muddle through his complicated feelings on the matter further. (Admitting that she has the potential to be right stings enough. Isn’t that like admitting his father is wrong? And if his father is wrong about this, who’s to say he isn’t wrong about everything else, too?)

At his sigh, she smiles at him. It’s a small smile, just a quirk of her lips, a crinkle of her eyes. But it makes his heart stutter a bit, and a pleased flush creeps across his neck and cheeks. She stands up carefully, dusting off her blue tunic before coming over to him, hand creeping up to touch his shoulder. “Perhaps I am,” she tells him, that small smile still on her lips. “And perhaps I am not.” Her eyes harden just a bit, the warm ocean blue icing over just a bit, and she looks at him fiercely. “But however you chose to think, or feel, is up for _you_ to decide – no one else.”

Before Zuko can ponder the matter further, she squeezes his shoulder. “We’ve chatted long enough,” she says airily, the seriousness of the moment fading. “And we’ve lost some time to prepare you for tonight.”

Oh. That’s right. _The feast._ Zuko had almost forgotten, and he wishes that Katara had. However, it seemed that fate was not on his side, as is often the case.

Katara made him take a bath, threatening that he cleans himself well or else she’d be forced to come in there and make sure he was – which he most certainly did not want her to do under any circumstances. After he steps out of the bath tub, touching a holoscreen to allow the water to drain, he looks at himself in the mirror over the sink, his short, wet hair mussed and sticking out in all directions. He holds a strand in his fingers, marveling at how long it has gotten since he’d left his uncle’s ship. In the month or so he’d been gone, his bangs had grown enough to begin to fall over his forehead in a tousled mess, the strands in the back brushing against his collar. He had never allowed his hair to get so long when he was on his own ship, as keeping his hair short was standard military uniform. And it was also a way to distinguish himself from the imperial family. It was a way to ensure his scar could always be seen by all.

He stares at his scar, a deep self-loathing and desperation filling him. That mark not only blemished his face, turned away the eyes of some and drew the eyes of other, distinctly distracting everyone, but it also blemished his honor. He hates it with all of his being, and he hates what it represents, and he wants nothing more than to right the wrong he has committed.

He reaches out and touches the reflection in the mirror, fingers lightly touching his scar.

“I will find the Avatar,” he whispers. “And I will go home.”

There’s a knock at the door, startling Zuko into almost dropping the towel he holds secure around his waist. “Zuko?” Katara’s voice is muffled by the door. “Are you alright in there?”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, well, good. Hurry up, though, because we need to get you dressed and do your hair.”

Zuko almost groans aloud. Do his hair? It’s like being back in the palace again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems are traditional Japanese poetry, both Kokinshuu and Tanka. 
> 
> First poem is by Narihira no Ason, and is a part of a Love poem series. Second poem is by author Priest Saigyou.
> 
> Also... Haha. SOrry for taking so long to update. I was trying to finish the chapter, but this part was a piece of a much, much longer one that I decided to split up. (It's like, part one of three. Omg. Sorry.)


	8. Feast

After many hours devoted to moisturizing, brushing his somewhat shaggy hair and pulling it back, threading it with beads, smearing the thick war paint on his face, clothing him in warm, traditional furs and boots, and Katara endlessly giving him pointers on Tribe etiquette, Zuko finally got to give himself one last check in the mirror before heading to the feast.

Who Zuko sees there is not someone he recognizes. His pale skin looks even paler next to the dark paint decorating his cheekbones, and against the dark fur robes he’s wearing. His hair pulled back from his face reminds him slightly of the style he used to wear at home, and he would feel nostalgic if not for the clay beads in his hair, as well.

Katara and Sokka wait by the door, each ready for the feast. Katara’s hair is, for once, let down in loose, rolling curves. Her bangs are tucked into a neat knot on the back of her head, a centerpiece among the glossy strands. Her eyes are lined with a sort of dark eyeliner, something different than what his sister uses. Where the Azula in his memories was all dramatic lines and wings on the edges, Katara looks natural and elegant, soft and smoky. Her robes are also similar to something his sister would wear, practical with warm leggings and boots, a silky tunic belted at the waist with an elegant length of white material. Her shoulders are bare, and Zuko’s eyes trace over their curves before moving on to Sokka.

Sokka is dressed in a much more modern fashion, in a dark velvet suit accented with white. He wears a white sash across his chest and an actual polished boomerang of bone is hooked into his belt. Of course, his boomerang gun is holstered on his other hip. Sokka had also just recently re-shaved his under-cut, and it’s impeccably smooth. The siblings pose a handsome and civilized sight. Zuko drinks them in, realizing that this is one of their last moments together, and he knows that he will miss them.

Katara and Sokka both offer him an arm, and he takes both, one Water Tribe sibling on each side of him. They walk him out of his door and through the pristine white hallways, so clean and sharp. Nothing like he had ever imagined when he read about Water Tribe culture, and yet here he is.

They don’t speak much on the way there, each caught up in their own thoughts. Sokka’s silence is the most surprising of all as he never seems to be speechless ever. But his eyebrows wiggle around and his mouth twists, as if he’s having an animated conversation in his head. Katara’s face is placid, the only crease on her face a small furrow of her eyebrows.

Zuko just takes them in, a strange sort of numbness in his heart. And then they reach two doors, tall and made of white wood, carved in intricate patterns. There are guards on either side, and the open the doors for them, and the three enter.

The room is huge, as large as the ballrooms back at the Imperial Palace. Everything is a soft, dimmed white color, blue tones of cloth and art draped and placed here and there. The lights sparkle softly along the walls and on the distant ceiling, giving the room a subdued and rather mysterious atmosphere. Tables are scattered all across the room, people sitting at them. At the opposite end of the room, a long table commands the attention, Hakoda sitting in the middle of it. It is here that Sokka and Katara pull Zuko.

The room hushes a little as they enter, and hundreds of pairs of blue eyes turn to watch them walk up to the front. The people smile at him, and they soon go back to their conversations and food. Zuko swallows thickly as he nears the table, the surrealness of the situation getting to him.

Zuko is being celebrated at a Water Tribe feast. This is not even something that he could make up.

Zuko ends up sitting between Katara and some old man who makes snide comments in Tribe to Katara. At least, Zuko assumes they’re snide, as Katara often bristles and narrows her eyes, smiling sweetly in that way that Zuko has come to realize is her way of displaying anger. Finally, she just begins ignoring the sour-faced man, instead opting to chat with Zuko. Zuko finds it a little strange that she doesn’t talk to her father on her other side, but then again, Hakoda is busy chatting with Sokka on his right side.

“How are you enjoying the food?” Katara asks Zuko. He turns to look at his meal, which is surprisingly much better tasting that it looks. It’s some sort of stew with meat he doesn’t recognize. There is actually an abundance of meat, with baskets of rare fruit placed here and there.

“…It’s fine,” Zuko responds. Katara smiles, as if he had complimented her own cooking.

“I could send you with some recipes, in case you ever miss the taste of Tribe food,” she says to him, eagerly. At Zuko’s frozen expression, she laughs, the tinkling of her laughter and the jab of her elbow causing him to regain his composure. “I’m teasing you. I would assume that the Inner Core must have an awfully different cuisine than here.”

Zuko stirs his soup, nodding. “Yes.” At her beckoning silence, he reluctantly continues, remembering all the food he ate when he was younger. “Well, there’s always fresh fruit and vegetables available, all year long. We don’t have to grow things in green houses at all, so that’s nice. We eat a lot of rice, of course, but not as much meat as you do here. And people in the cities love iced things: ice cream, iced drinks, frozen fruit and so on.” Katara wrinkles her nose at frozen food, and Zuko feels himself watching her do it, then shakes himself away. “Uh, the food is spicy. Very spicy.”

“Spicy,” Katara says wonderingly. “We tried growing some spices in the greenhouse, but they just don’t do as well here. Importing them is expensive, too. So we stick to traditional food more.” She looks as if she’s about to say more, but Hakoda on her other side raps on the table and stands up. Instantly, the room quiets and everyone looks at the chief expectantly. Hakoda begins to speak in Tribe, and Katara leans over and translates for him, whispering softly in his ear, her hand delicately placed on his shoulder to balance herself. Zuko can smell the perfume she put on, and it’s a musty sort of smell, different than the sweet perfumes Azula used, or the soft floral ones his mother had worn.

“Brothers and sisters,” Katara translates. “We are gathered here tonight in celebration of a new member of our tribe. We are gathered here to say farewell to him, and to wish him all the best in his life, and to wish him safe travels.” Hakoda pauses, and he turns to look at Zuko. “Wherever he goes, he will always have a place here, with us.” Hakoda smiles at him and Zuko feels his cheeks warming up. The chief turns back to his people and flourishes his hands, shouting something, and people cheer. Sokka groans on the other side of Hakoda, but Katara seems excited.

“What’s happening now?” Zuko whispers.

Katara grins at him. “Dancing!”

Zuko freezes rigid at that word, feels all the blood drain from his face. Dancing. Suddenly, he flashes back to seemingly endless hours of dancing with Azula and suffering through her snide comments, his mother’s endless patience, and that awful, terrible crooning music that crackled, even on their state-of-the-arc speakers. It hadn’t just been dance practice – it had been torture. So when he sees the tables being pushed off the floor and to the sides and sees the guests standing up, Zuko finds himself wildly looking around for the closest exit. Katara notices his frantic motions and raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“I, I, I can’t dance,” Zuko stutters, gripping the sides of his chair.

Katara looks at him strangely. “Who said anything about you dancing?” She asks. “We’re obviously dancing for you.” She snickers. “Though I’d like to see you try one of our tribe dances. Ha.”

Zuko can’t help himself when he literally slumps with relief, and Katara gives him a reassuring pat on his shoulder. Then she turns to watch the people gathering in the center of the room. Some have instruments, and others are dressed in elaborately traditional clothing from the Tribe. Zuko had thought the uniforms that all the Tribe guardsmen wore were the traditional clothing, but he was wrong. A low rhythm starts, people humming in unison, and then the musicians start to play. People watching clap with the rhythm, and when the singing begins, everyone joins in. Katara’s voice next to him is clear and sweet.

He watches the dancers intently, entranced by the rhythmic circles they form, breaking apart and encircling one another, stomping their feet and twisting their arms. It’s beautiful, and so, so alien. It’s nothing like the precise, rigid movements of traditional dances of Nation descent, and it’s nothing like the traveling show from the Earth Kingdoms he’d seen with his uncle while docking in the asteroid belt near Ba Sing Se. The Tribe dance flows and ebbs, much like the element of their spirits. When it ends, Zuko claps along with the rest of the onlookers, surprised to find he had genuinely enjoyed and appreciated the dance. He finds himself thinking his mother would have loved it.

On Zuko’s other side, the sour-faced man snorts loudly, muttering something. Katara flushes bright red, fiddling with a curling strand of hair. For once, she doesn’t say anything. Zuko glances between the two, almost flinching when the old man stands up and clears his throat. He makes an announcement, and the room quiets respectfully to listen to him. Zuko expects Katara to lean over and translate for him, but she remains quiet, her face flushing further and further with each word the man says. She looks… Delighted. The old man snaps his fingers, and a beat starts. Then he gestures to Katara, and together they move to the middle of the room. They face each other and bow, the old man smiling widely, matching Katara’s own expression.

The drum beat is harsh and strong and fills the room. Zuko can feel it pulling his own heartbeat along with it, and he’s straining to watch what’s happening before him. Katara and the old man circle each other, steps light and quick. The old man flicks his hands one way, twisting away from Katara as she mirrors his movements. They’re now facing outwards, and they begin twirling their arms faster and faster. From the fountains and pools of water along the edges of the room, streams of water come flowing towards them. Katara’s face is concentrated, and her water, Zuko notices with some awe, is shaped like a fish, undulating through the air. She swings it around her, so she’s facing the old man again. He also has a large stream of water, but this one is in the shape of a dragon. Zuko is curious about the dragon, as he didn’t think the Tribes to feel particularly attached to the creatures. Somewhere, someone starts to speak, their voice low and powerful and mournful. At the voice, Katara and the old man begin to move, intricately controlling their streams of water to circle each other.

There’s a break in the drums, and then the two creatures begin to fight. It’s honestly so complicated that Zuko can’t follow, and the rhythm of the drums makes him dizzy. The level of concentration and power it must take to form these creatures and keep them formed astounds Zuko, and he finds himself respecting Katara on a whole new level. Not only does she have power, but she has finesse. The respect in him burns, and he finds himself oddly proud of her, of her strength.

The fight – or dance, because it had the same scripted movements of a dance, Zuko realizes, ends too soon, with the dragon smashing into the fish. There are sad murmurs from all around. The dragon turns away, triumphant, shooting out jets of water from its mouth – but the fish reforms, larger and more power than ever. Zuko’s eyes flick to look at Katara, and he sees her face is streaked with sweat, her hair messy and shoulders heaving. But her eyes are glowing with a fierceness that makes his stomach tighten, and her lips are curled back into a savage grin.

Amid the droplets of water, sweat staining her and seeing the absolute joy on her face, Zuko sees how beautiful Katara is.

In that moment, the fish swallows the dragon, which thrashes wonderfully and valiantly, but eventually merges with the fish. Katara holds the fish for a while longer, having it swim lazily around once as the narrator finishes speak. Then, the drums die down and she heaves the water back into the fountains. There is silence, and then tentative applause. Zuko finds himself clapping the hardest, and he’s surprised by the lack of enthusiasm. That was a show of mastery, and yet no one seems eager to acknowledge it. Katara notices as well, and her grin slips away and she looks small and weary. The old man claps Katara on the shoulder, and his normally sour expression is one replaced with pride. But that doesn’t seem to lift Katara’s spirits. She bows to him, and then walks away, towards a door opening into a terrace. Zuko watches her go.

By some unspoken cue, the musicians begin playing again, this time something more along the lines of the music Zuko is accustomed to hearing in the Inner Core parties. Obviously, guests are free to mingle and dance and converse now. But Zuko doesn’t feel compelled to dance with any of these strangers, and he certainly doesn’t feel the need to converse with Hakoda or dance with Sokka (or vice versa, for that matter). Besides, Katara’s back had a familiar shape to it, a straightening of the spine to feign strength, a set in the jaw showing a lack of emotion and hurt. It’s a posture that Zuko is intimately familiar with, as he’s used it many a time.

He finds himself slipping out after her, following her onto the terrace. He has to stop a moment, as he gazes in wonderment at the huge glass dome encompassing it, keeping in the warmth. Flowers and trees and shrubs grow here and there, adding the atmosphere of another planet. It seems strange, in so barren a landscape, to find familiar plants and scenery.

Zuko finds Katara sitting on a bench, elbows on knees and hands loosely clasped. She’s pulled all off her thick, curly hair to one side, and one of her knees jiggle a little. Zuko coughs a little, to let her know he’s there. Her eyes flicker towards him and he sees her muscles tense, but besides that, she gives off no sign of having noticed him.

“Uh,” Zuko says, casting about for something to say. “Nice party?”

Katara turns her face to stare at him, straightening in the meanwhile; she looks upset. For a few moments, Zuko wonders what, in Agni’s name, did he say wrong? But her mouth quirks up in a wan smile, and she scoots over to allow him space to seat himself. Zuko smoothly sits down, carefully leaving a respectable amount of space between their bodies.

“Yeah,” she responds eventually. “It’s a great party.”

Silence stretches between them, and Zuko spends some time debating whether or not the silence is awkward, or whether it’s meaningful. Should he say something? Whenever she’s been upset before, it eventually comes bursting out of her, much like an overburdened dam. Maybe she’s annoyed that he followed her out here. The more he thinks, the more the silence weighs on him, until he clears his throat.

“Are you…” he hesitates. “Okay?”

Katara focuses on him, her eyebrows raising a little in surprise. She seems to consider his question for a few moments before shrugging.

“I’m used to it,” she says, as if that is a satisfactory answer. She doesn’t say yes, and her tone obviously suggests she’s not fine. But it also suggests that Zuko had hit a wall and that she had no wish to further discuss her feelings. Zuko feels just the tiniest bit hurt. He was beginning to think that they shared something, a friendship of sorts, that allowed them to talk to each other about things they may not be otherwise able to share. Zuko had thought that they were similar enough to open up to each other.

He doesn’t press further, inside settling his hands on his knees and staring at the ground. His palms feel hot, the warmth pressing through the pants he’d been forced into. He swallows, the sudden realization of his departure dawning on him. This might be the last conversation he ever has with Katara, and he doesn’t want it to be one filled with guarded words and superficial small talk. He holds his hand out to her, and she stares at it for a moment. Zuko clears his throat, a little embarrassed, and mutters, “do you want to dance?” Her eyes snap up, puzzled, as if she’s never been asked before. She tilts her head to the side, and then smiles sweetly at him. She places her small hand in his, delicate and soft, and they stand up together.

“I’d be honored to dance with you,” she says to him, sliding one hand up to his shoulder, the other still in his own hand. Zuko swallows, hard, and places his own free hand in the curve of her waist, trying to keep his touch soft, and, above all, cool. Their steps are small and hesitant, and Zuko tries leading her a little, swaying softly. She follows, and as they become more comfortable, the dance feels more natural. It’s a simple waltz, since Zuko isn’t familiar with Tribe dances and he’s sure Katara isn’t with traditional Nation dances, either.

Katara watches their feet, a small smile on her lips. Zuko watches her, eyes looking everywhere they can, drinking in her features. _Maybe our last conversation._ He’s sad to think of it like that. It may seem strange, of course, to have become fond of one’s captor, but he doesn’t really think of her and Sokka like that anymore. They had believed in him, and had encouraged him. There had been spats, of course, but his own family was worse by far.

“Where do you plan to go after this?” her voice is soft, and it brings him out of his musings. He clears his throat.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Where is your next planet that you are going to dock at?” she asks. “We have done some trading with some of the Earth asteroids around here, and I could give you some recommendations.”

Oh. _Yeah. That's right -- I am a merchant._ “Er… Yes. That could be nice.”

Her face lights up, and there is such a glow of hope around her that he feels something within his stomach drop.

“Does that mean I can come with you…?” she whispers carefully, as if afraid that if she were to speak too loudly, she would break the atmosphere between them. Her hands are curled into his shirt, tightening. It takes a moment for Zuko to recall their previous conversation, his thoughts becoming progressively more muddled the longer his stares into her shimmering eyes.

Zuko has a foolish notion to touch her face, to brush his fingers across her high cheekbones. He notices a loose strand curling away from her hairline, and the itch in his hands becomes stronger. Their steps have slowed down and they’re simply swaying in place. Katara’s face tilts further towards him, thick lashes, darkened by kohl and eyeliner, frame her blue eyes. He can almost see his reflection in them, and it seems that he had closed the gap between their faces. Zuko feels uncomfortably hot, his hands gripping her waist and fingers.

“I—“ He opens his mouth, words ready to spill out as he turns to Katara. There’s a feeling rushing up through his chest and into his throat, something that needed to be said –

A gust of wind slams into him and Katara, and the words are snatched away from him as suddenly as they had come. The two freeze and look at each other, and suddenly he comes to his senses, snatching his hands away as if she were on fire. Zuko spends a few seconds fixing his ruffled hair as Katara does the same, then looks around in confusion. Aang is sheepishly standing a few feet away, cheeks flushing slightly. Zuko resists the urge to spit fire at him.

“Oops,” Aang says. “Uh, I didn’t know anyone was out here…”

Katara gets up, a smile plastered on her face. If Zuko hadn’t seen her listless expression before, he would have thought that they had been joking and having a good time. Instead, he watches Katara go over to Aang, patting his shoulder. They chat for a few moments, and Katara’s face softens, and she laughs, smoothing a hand over the kid’s bald head. Zuko smiles a little, a soft and pleasant buzz forming in his stomach at seeing her facial expression lifting into something naturally happy.

Zuko watches them talk for a little more, and then he decides it is time for him to retire to his room until he departs for his ship. There’s something a little sad in him, though, as he wanders to hallways to his room. He stares at the blue ceiling, dim in the night time, until he finally falls asleep.

* * *

 

_He is treading through the tundra planes of the spirit world again, this time alone. There is no dragon on his arm and no little girl holding his hand, just the stars spinning above and a sense of purpose within him. He knows where is going._

_Beside him floats a glowing figure. He knows that it is Yue, even if her form right now is not the one she appeared to him as before. She speaks to him, but he can’t necessarily understand each individual word, but he can grasp_ at _the meaning: he must make a choice._

_He stops at an uprising in the snow, where he sees someone laying there. Zuko kneels beside them, rests his hand on their forehead. Their eyes snap open, and Zuko is not surprised to see them glowing a bright whitish-blue._

_“You have finally returned to us,” Zuko whispers. “The Avatar has returned.”_

* * *

 

Zuko sits straight up, heart thumping. He knew who he had seen in that dream. He had seen Aang – Aang is the Avatar.

He feels sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, sorry for being so slow. I promise this fic isn't dropped. But reality really kicks ass lol.
> 
> And thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for the comments and the kudos. They keep me going when times are tough, and make me feel like struggling with this fic is actually worth it.


	9. An End, a Beginning

Zuko lays in bed for a long while after that dream, that sickening feeling lingering within him. He knows what he has to do – he must take Aang with him when he departs tomorrow. But how? Aang had made no comment on what his plans were, and he’s not sure if he could convince the younger to accompany him, let alone come up with a reasonable explanation for Katara, who had become quite fond of the bald kid. Although… If he _could_ convince Aang to come along with him and Katara (assuming she still wants to come with him. The idea baffles him still. Why would she want to leave her home unless she were forced to do so?) then everything would work out fine… Until he returned to the planet Sozin, where his father is surely waiting his honorable return. Zuko tries desperately not to think about Aang and Katara’s faces as he hands over the young airbender to the guards. Somehow, the thought leaves a more bitter taste in his mouth than he’d like to admit.

But… He’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it, he supposes.

Eventually, Zuko forces himself to sit up, stretching his arms to the ceiling. Judging by his inner fire, it is slightly before dawn, before the bustling of the city in this place of sleepy, night-dwelling waterbenders dwell wakes up. He settles himself onto the floor and straightens his back, and tries to settle the emotions within him in order to meditate. Not five seconds go by, and he is remembering how close Katara’s face was last night, and how her breath fanned across his face, and there’s a sticky pool of warmth pooling from his chest and dripping down lower into his abdomen and suddenly there’s a burning smell. His eyes fly open and he sees smoke coming from his pants where his hands had been fisted, and with a curse his pats out the smoke.

He buries his face into his hands. What is happening to him? Why does she keep invading his mind? Must be some spirit curse from the Trial.

A sharp rap at the door makes him jerk up, and there’s a strangely awkward feeling in his mind, like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t be. He coughs slightly, and says, “Come in.” He’s only moderately horrified when his voice cracks, and the door slips open and Katara walks in. When her eyes rove over his bare chest, he stands up clumsily, crossing his arms. She cocks an eyebrow and he flushes.

“Breakfast?” she asks, and he nods sharply. He moves towards the dresser, and waits for her to leave before pulling off his pants. When she doesn’t turn to push off the wall and exit the room, Zuko clears his throat.

“As if I haven’t seen you unclothed before,” she snorts, and Zuko’s rush of red in his face makes her throw her head back and laugh. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll turn around.”

He tries very hard not to think about her hands on his body as she healed him, their coolness electrifying against his warm skin… He pulls off his pants as quickly as possible and glances over his shoulder to check that she wasn’t looking. He is relieved (?) that she isn’t.

When he’s dressed in a loose pair of pants and a white shirt tucked into a belt adorned with beads, he coughs to let her know he’s finished. She turns around and sweeps her eyes up and down his form. “Nice travel suit,” she grins. “Looks comfy.”

“Er,” he responds. “You too?” She snickers and looks down at what she’s wearing: a simple collared navy-issued tunic with stiff shoulders and white bone buttons. Her black pants are tucked into calf-high leather boots, and she’s wearing a pristinely white belt. Her hair is braided back, and she looks anything but comfortable.

She looks down and tugs on the hem of her tunic. “I, uh, didn’t know if your ship has a standard uniform or – “

“Katara,” Zuko interrupts her. “It’s a merchant ship.”

Her cheeks tinge mahogany, and she gives him a shy smile. “…Right. Sorry. I suppose I overreacted, a little.”

Zuko smiles back at her. His ship, of course, _was_ a military vessel, and they did have a uniform. But he didn’t have the heart to tell her that when she’s meekly smiling at him like that. Plus, the Water Tribe uniform makes her look very, er, _nice._ She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and then offers him her arm. “Let’s go get something to eat before we leave,” she tells him. He takes her arm, and notes how very different this situation is from the time when she escorted him here with a burning cold grip on his arm. How very different, he thinks, almost leaning into the warmth her arms radiates into him.

In the mess hall, they run into Aang, who is enthusiastically gulping down his oatmeal and berries, while occasionally sneaking a fling at one of the librarians bent over her book a few tables away. Every time a glob hits her in the back of her head, she snaps her head around and viciously scans the room, where Aang innocently swallows down a sip of tea and engages his drowsy neighbor in conversation. Zuko smothers a smile while Katara marches over.

_“Aang,”_ she hisses. “Please don’t disturb Head Librarian Noku when she is researching.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Katara,” Aang responds, batting his eyelashes innocently. Katara scowls admonishingly, but there is a smile lingering on her lips. She affectionately rubs the top of his head, and there’s a sad look in her eyes.

“Aang,” Katara starts, once they’ve dug into their own porridge. He looks at her, chewing on a particularly tough clump. “I’m going to be leaving…” he doesn’t respond except to chew some more. Katara presses forward. “I don’t want you to feel that I’m abandoning you.”

“About that,” Aang says, swallowing. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m just going to come with you.”

 Zuko chokes on his tea and Katara blinks. “I, oh. I suppose if it’s fine with Zuko – “

" _It is!”_ Zuko’s voice, being more enthusiastic than normal, makes them both stare at him. “I-it’s fine, really, the more the merrier. Aang, my uncle will, uh, want to meet you, too, and – “

Aang, thankfully, cuts him off. “Great! Thanks for letting me hitch a ride.”

_No,_ Zuko thinks. _Thank you._

Things are finally starting to look up for Zuko. He doesn’t have to leave Katara behind, and the Avatar just asked to walk into his own prison. Zuko didn’t even have to bleed for it. His heart, for once in a great while, feels light and is soaring.

* * *

  _Year 3651_

_173 rd year of the Fire Dynasty_

_11 th Day of the 11th Lunar Cycle_

_Day of the Water_

_Day of Departure_

Zuko wakes up early, earlier than normal. He sits up, and methodically gets ready. He takes a shower, and while drying his hair, he glances at himself in the mirror. Even seeing the ugly scar doesn’t change his dreamy mood. As if in someone else’s body, he turns to pick up the set of black traveling clothes the Tribe had provided him with. Thick, warm pants, a black sweater, a jacket, gloves, and standard military boots. But there are some unique Tribe elements, such as the dog-tag engraved with his name and a number in common, and in what he assumes is his name in tribe. On the back, there is a phrase etched into the metal, but that is in Tribe, as well. Accompanying it, a note reads

_For our newest tribe member,_

_And for our newest warrior._

_When you look at this,_

_May you draw on our strength wherever you are,_

_And remember you always have a home here._

_-Hakoda_

Zuko swallows heavily, and then tucks the dog tag into his shirt.

He stares at his feet as he walks to the port, watches his black boots tromp on the white walkways of the purest metal he’s ever seen, reflecting the shimmering water in the canals beside him. The shadows of delicate buildings loom over him, and people in blue wander past.

He makes it to the dock, and he stares at the doors to the shuttleport that would let him leave from here. For good.

He pushes through.

Katara, Aang, and Sokka are all chatting by the ramp of the ship. Zuko swallows when he sees it, awed by its beauty. Even though it’s a shuttle, it is made of that same lovely white metal that makes up most of the city. It has a sleek design, and doesn’t look as if it runs off of fuel like his old shuttle. This one looks like it has a Spirit-Reactor core, judging by the boosters on either side. On the side, waves are painted.

“Hey, there,” Katara says warmly when she notices him. Zuko drags his attention away from the ship to look at her. Her cheeks are a rosy red, her face glowing with excitement. Sokka looks a little glum besides her, but he has a smile on his face, as well. Aang is bouncing around, from foot to foot, looking jittery. He keeps glancing at the ship, a frown on his face. But Zuko doesn’t pay much heed, because his head is swimming.

“She’s beautiful,” he blurts out. Sokka raises an eyebrow.

“Who says it’s a she?” He asks wryly. Katara rolls her eyes and punches him, prompting a small squeak.

“Anyways,” Katara says, as if continuing a conversation that hasn’t taken place. “She’s all stocked up and ready to go. We’ll enter the coordinates your uncle gave us and dock there to meet up. Sokka is coming with us so he can fly the shuttle back once we rendezvous with your crew,” Katara explains, listing a mental list she must have inside her head. “Then, Aang and I will join you, and help you with trading and so forth.” She grins. “I brought a bunch of authentic Tribe clothing, beadwork, weaving, jewelry, and carvings, as well as some ornamental weapons. We’ll make a haul with this in some distant planet.”

Zuko raise his brow, impressed. Authentic Tribe artifacts and artistry _is_ worth a lot, since the techniques used are time consuming and unreplaceable by technology. Not to mention that the crafts have been wiped out on most colonized Tribe planets, and rebel planets who might know the technique aren’t exactly on friendly trading terms. Katara pulls out a bone knife and shows it to him, and he admires the craftwork. It is beautiful, and he can think of a few ports where this would sell well.

“Excellent,” he says, and he means it. Things just keep looking up for him. Maybe, after years of things going wrong, things are about to go right.

Katara makes her way up the ramp first, hand delicately on the railing. She turns around and smiles at them all. Zuko feels his breath catch.

Then she frowns. “Aang?” she asks. “is everything okay?”

Zuko snaps his eyes to the boy, and sees that Aang’s shifting is now more urgent. He’s fidgeting with his orange sleeves, eyes darting everywhere. At Katara’s question, he startles.

“Oh, y-yeah,” he says. “I’m fine, just, I’ve been thinking – “

“Aang,” Katara says softly. “it’s okay if you changed your mind, about coming.”

Zuko feels his heart plummet as fast as the relief that spreads across Aang’s face.

“Thanks, Katara,” Aang says. _No._ “I… This ship just reminds me a lot of some… Bad memories. Of a dream, I had last night…” _No. No no no._ “I might stick around here for a while, catch another shuttle out after hanging with Hakoda-“

“ _No,”_ Zuko snarls, and before he can even think of what he is doing, there are flames bursting from his hands, and he reaches for Aang.

Time moves so slowly at this point. A second too late, Zuko realizes that this is a situation he can never come back from, a decision he can never repair. He can see it on the face of Sokka, whose face is glowing in the orange of Zuko’s fire. His eyes are wide with shock, and his hand reaches slowly for his gun. Zuko body checks him, and Sokka goes flying, his Boomerang 2000 skidding across the floor away from him.

He sees Aang’s eyes, grey and innocent and confused. He reaches for him, feeling as if he is running through molasses. He needs to grab Aang and board the ship, as quick as possible, before its too late, before he sees her expression –

A tendril of water slams into him, and his fire hisses out into steam. Aang blinks, then jumps away. “Z-Zuko?” he calls out hesitantly. Zuko shakes his head, spring back up.

“Aang,” he says. “Come here!”

“ _Aang, run and get help,”_ her voice commands. Aang’s eyes flicker between them, and his expression changes minutely as he sees what she’s doing, and Zuko knows he has to face her.

His heart sinks, and he turns towards her.

If he thought she was a goddess of fury before, then he was wrong. Snow blows around her in the ice of her rage, and multiple tendrils of water writhe around her, the points iced into dagger sharp tips. She’s crying, he realizes numbly, she’s crying because of me. The droplets freeze when they drip off her face, joining the water at her hands.  

Katara screams in frustration, jerking her hand out towards him, foot sliding forward smoothly. Zuko wreathes his fist and punches through the icy tip flying towards him, shattering it. Steams hisses angrily between them, momentarily cutting off their line of site. Zuko takes advantage of it, rolling towards Aang who is standing there dumbly. He grabs the boy, jerking his arms behind his back and tying them with his belt.

“Don’t fight back if you value your life,” Zuko hisses, and Aang turns his wide grey eyes to him.

“Zuko,” he says, sadly, as if he knows something that Zuko doesn’t. “You don’t want to do this.”

Zuko almost laughs. “Believe me,” Zuko whispers, and smoke filters out of his mouth. “This is all I have been thinking about, waiting on, for _years._ ”

And he pulls him with him through the dissipating steam, where Katara is waving the tendrils madly, trying to clear it. She spots them, and her body stiffens. She pulls her hands together, forming one large whip, and brings it down onto him. Zuko dashes to the side, dragging Aang with him, who is surprisingly not struggling.

“Aang!” Katara yells, drawing water to her again. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you!”

“I know you will,” Aang says, and there’s sadness in his eyes, so much sadness.

“Like hell you will,” Zuko snarls, and he dashes for the railing where Katara stands. She has the advantage, being higher and in the way of his goal _and_ not toting a second person around. She looks startled by Zuko’s brazen charge, though, and hesitates to lash out at him.

Zuko barges into her, knocking her out of the way, and for a moment, her skin is touching his, and he can smell her soft, earthy smell, like a forest after rain. Their eyes connect, and something is shattering inside his chest, but he can’t go back, he can only move forward now, as he has always moved forward, bravely and on his own.

She’s still crying when she falls over the railing, groaning when she hits the ground. And Zuko is inside the shuttle, where he throws Aang into the first door he can find. “Stay here,” he growls, before turning back to the ramp door. He finds the button, and presses it, before racing towards the cockpit.

Something wraps around his ankle, pulling his feet out from under him. He goes down elbows, hard, and when he tries to roll onto his back and shoot out a jet of flame, Katara is there, her face furious, water springing from her hands so fast it’s a shimmering blur. He’s so cold, he suddenly realizes, he’s freezing, and when his breath plumes out, he sees that she has frozen him in a thick sheath of ice to the floor. He breaths shallowly, his inner fire flickering in and out in the sudden onslaught of cold. Katara pants, then lowers her hands, before scrubbing her face.

She looks like she wants to say something, like she wants to scream, like she wants to lay down and cry. And Zuko can relate. But instead, she turns away, opening the door where Aang is at.

Zuko breathes in deep, deeper and deeper, before breathing out flame, melting the ice on him. He can’t get it all in one go, but it’s enough to startle Katara, who jerks the door open and spins around back towards him. Zuko has a hand free now, and he throws blistering jets of fire towards her. She weaves between the attacks, snapping at bursts she can’t avoid with a water whip, while Zuko feels the rest of the ice melt away. “Aang, get out of here!” she hollers, and her movements are getting sluggish. Aang slips best her, running towards the ramp. When he looks back, Zuko sees his eyes, with that _fucking sadness_ there.

Zuko screams, and with a desperate attempt, throws both his hands forward, pushing with everything he has to combust, to form fire, to burn everything standing in his way and all the pain and misery that plagues him. He feels pain crushing through his skull, and it feels like the fire he spews forth from his hands is being dragged from his hands, and roars outwards. He sees Katara’s face, and she looks amazed, startled, her mouth open in an ‘o.’

She screams when it hits her, and her body flies backwards. She had tried to raise a shield of water, but her reaction was too slow. Perhaps she didn’t think Zuko would actually try to hurt her. But Zuko’s made his decision, and he’s hardening his heart again. He’s been too soft recently, too weak. The most important thing, he thinks, staring at her as she falls, is that he can finally go home.  

She lays, crumpled, singed, burned. Zuko feels empty, empty, empty, and he turns to Aang, who is staring strickenly at Katara. “You hurt her!” he says, disbelief pitching his voice higher.

“ _Nothing_ stands in between my way home and _me_ ,” Zuko growls, and he’s so angry, because if he isn’t angry he’ll have to feel everything else that lurks beneath the hot fury. “I will do what is necessary to restore my honor.” Aang’s eyes are so sad. He feels blood drip into his eyes, and he flicks it away with a sweating hand. He’s soaking wet from Katara’s bending, and steam rises off of his body from his temperature. Zuko wonders why Aang doesn’t move as he gets closer, reaching a smoky hand out –

A tendril of water, barely holding itself together, slams into Aang’s stomach, and he goes flying. Zuko snaps his head back to Katara, who, with a trembling hand, is laying on the floor, blood streaming from her mouth and burns oozing. But there’s a hard look in her eyes. “Sokka,” she croaks, “Get Aang,”

Zuko looks back to where Aang has landed, and Sokka has a hold of him, nose crooked and bleeding and a black eye swelling up. His face is dangerous, and angry, and he’s holding his gun up towards Zuko.

“Get off the shuttle,” Sokka says, lowly.

“I need to go home,” Zuko responds, holding his hands out. “Why won’t any of you just take _my_ side for once?”

Sokka furrows his brows more. “Because this is _wrong,”_ Sokka says. “I don’t know what you want with Aang, but we’re not handing him over to the Empire.”

Zuko feels his heart sink even further. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone anymore than this, but –

A hand chops the inside of his leg, and Zuko feels it buckle. He lands on a knee, hard, and he reaches out to grab Katara’s arm. She snarls, and like a wildcat, throws herself on top of him, pushing him down and straddling him. “Sokka!” she shouts. “Do it!”

Sokka begins protesting with an incredulous expression, but she screams something in frustration, and he finally moves. The shuttle door begins to close from something Sokka does, and Zuko snarls, scrambling to get to Aang as soon as possible. After all, if he doesn’t have the Avatar, then all of this – meeting the Sokka and Katara, the Trial, befriending them, and then betraying them when he finally had people who would watch his back, when those feelings of his towards her were strengthening – all of this would be for nothing. And so he presses forward, desperately, because what else can he do? He grapples with Katara, rolling over so she’s under him now. He has the superior weight advantage, and she writhes beneath him. She’s still crying, tears mixing with the soot on her face, and he feels his grip go slack. The fury wavers. Something is cracking.

She pulls out something from inside her tunic, and Zuko flushes. “Wha-“ he stutters before she clips a pair of handcuffs around one hand, snapping them shut and flipping a switch. He jerks his hand away, but she freezes them together deftly before slipping the other one. Then she pushes him off, and Zuko tugs at them, confused. They’re emitting a humming sound.

She doesn’t look at him, but stands up and runs over to the controls, typing on the hub-board as fast as she can. The shuttle jitters, then lifts off without much of a sound.

“You think these handcuffs will stay on?” Zuko growls, and Katara doesn’t even look at him. “I can get these off, easy. I just have to melt them, somehow.” When she doesn’t respond, Zuko pulls at them so they make a chinking sound. “I don’t even need these. I can defeat you with them on, and then land and capture the avatar, and return home – “

“No,” Katara says, and her voice is so low, so full of despair and hatred and poison and hurt, that Zuko stops. And she turns, slowly, and he sees how everything they’ve built recently has fallen apart. The fringes of her hair, escaping from her braid, are singed. Soot and burns cover her body, and her clothes are in tatters. Tear marks, now dry, streak her face, and her eyes are empty. They’re dull, and lifeless, as if she can’t even bear to bring herself to properly look at him. Then she turns back to the hub, and with a flick of her hand, freezes Zuko to the floor where he’s sitting. It’s as if she can barely stand to look at him, and that hurts more than the ice clinging to him.

The iciness plunges him into pain, and he shudders before trying to breathe to melt it. But when he reaches for that fire within him, there’s a block – only a distracting hum is there.

Zuko feels the coldness reach inside him. “What did you do to my bending?” he asks, voice cracking.

“The handcuffs block your chi, and therefore your bending, through vibrations and electrical signals,” Katara says. “It was designed by Sokka, to help non-benders contain those who can bend.” looking out the windshield, and the whole shuttle lurches as they exit the atmosphere. A map maximizes on the window, and the shuttle’s navigation system speaks in a low, cool tone. _Now flying to Omashu Port. Estimated time: two weeks, 4 days, and 3.5 hours. Sit back and relax, and have a lovely flight._ Katara stares at nothing, then fixes her sharp gaze on him, before limping over and kneeling. She grabs his hair and yanks his head back, so his neck is exposed, and Zuko involuntarily jerks and tries to summon his bending. But there’s still that damned block there, and Zuko feels tendrils of panic grip him.

“We are going to have a very long trip together,” she says, drawing closer to him, until her breath is whispering across his chin and her lips are touching his jaw, softly, and he shudders. “A very long trip. And when we board at Omashu, the last free Earth planet, I will turn over to the local authorities, and say that you are the heir to the Empire, Prince Zuko. ”

Zuko feels his blood run cold. His eyes flicker towards hers, and he feels her smile against his cheek. “Oh, you thought we didn’t know?” she continues, coldly. “When we found your ID, we ran it through our system. It took a few days, and we didn’t know how many Zukos there could be, but we were wanted to be sure.” She laughs breathily. Her breath is hot, and she smells like a mixture between herbs and blood. “When your uncle, the Great Dragon of the Western Spiral, finally called us, we knew.”

Zuko swallows. “Then why would you – “

“Because I believed you, _in_ you,” she snaps, harshly, and she throws his head away from her as if in disgust. “Because you somehow passed the trial, probably through _deception_.” She stops, and glares at him. “And oh, how I’ve paid for that naivety.”

And after that, she doesn’t speak another word to him. Just covers him from shoulder to foot and ice, and levitates him with her bending until she reaches a door, where she drops him in. As a small mercy, she bends all the ice off of him. Before he can turn around, the door is shut and locked, and Zuko is left in a room again, with Katara as his icy warden.

Except this time, it’s much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't given up on this, I swear. This was a difficult chapter to write, and I have had in mind for years. This was one of the scenes I knew I wanted to happen when I first began writing this. And I still love this story, and I have so many ideas for it that I can't wait to use. Thank you for your support.


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